A Chink in the Armor
by marblefacade
Summary: Eponine now secretly works with the police to bring an end to the student rebellion. She must become close to the Les Amis, their seemingly marble leader, in particular. Using her wit and looks, will Eponine be able to break down Enjolras's walls to gain his trust? Even more, will she be able to betray it once she has it?
1. Chapter 1: A Proposition

_**A/N: Trigger warning for rape. I cut away before it could get too gruesome.**_

One second.

One second, oddly enough, was invaluable. Ask a man who had just bet on the second place horse. Ask a doctor who had not gotten to his critically injured patient in time. Ask a woman who had just lost the man she loved.

One second. One second was all it took for her future with Marius to crash into the ground. One second and a glance.

Ever since locking eyes with Cosette from across the crowded square, Marius had been talking about the lark nonstop, and every admiring word that he said about the blonde stabbed Eponine's heart like a thousand knifes.

Last night, Eponine had stupidly taken him, on his request, to where the girl lived. The couple had exchanged names and declarations of affection; Eponine didn't know much else, for she had waited outside the lovely orchard like the angel that had guarded the Garden of Eden. She had been eavesdropping, a skill of hers, on the couple's conversation, only to be interrupted to the sound of footsteps and murmuring voices.

Not to her surprise, the approaching gang was _Patron-Minette _coming to rob Cosette's house, as her father brusquely informed her as he shoved past her and approached the gate. Eponine rushed forward, throwing her back against the iron.

"I know this house, I tell you," she spat, "there's nothing her for you. Just the old man and the girl. They live ordinary lives."

"Don't interfere. You've got some gall. Take care, young miss. You've got a lot to say!" Thenardier shot back with as much spark as his daughter's protest.

"I'm gonna scream!" Eponine shouted as Montparnasse's rough arms closed around her and dragged her away from the gate. "_I'm gonna warn them here_!"

"One little scream and you'll regret it for a year!" Thenardier hissed at his daughter. Knowing his daughter's audacity, he stopped his fiddling with the gate's lock and turned to face her.

Eponine drew in a breath and let out a shriek. The scream was cut short by Montparnasse's hand over her mouth. Still, it had let out enough noise to be heard by possible policemen nearby. Oh, the shock that would have shone on their faces as they saw Thenardier, one of their own, robbing a house. Alongside doing petty crimes, Thenardier worked, ironically, with the police force.

The _Patron-Minette _had scattered like mice, but not before Eponine's father had managed to aim a slap at his kin. The slap was hard, but it was nothing compared to the blows that the bits of overheard conversation between Marius and Cosette had dealt on her heart.

The gang was gone and Eponine was left sitting on the ground where her father and struck her. She could feel her face burning from the impact. It was a loaded slap, filled with Thenardier's resentment at her for her rejection of his last offer. Nearly two months ago, Thenardier had made a business offer to Eponine. His recent qualm had been over the whispers of an impending rebellion amongst the young people over the treatment of the poor in France. He, knowing of Eponine's closeness to Marius, a student with radical ideals, urged Eponine to infiltrate their "little club" and find out about possible plans. Eponine, of course, had refused to betray Marius in that way. The failed proposition had ended with Eponine being kicked out and onto the street, where she now lived.

That was the price one paid for loyalty.

Marius emerged from the garden and Eponine quickly stood, brushing the dirt of her tattered skirt as if it would do any good. Together, they went to the _Café Musain_, where the _Les Amis_ always met to discuss politics.

Eponine had always followed Marius to these meetings, using them mainly as an excuse to be with him. In addition, the blonde leader's promises of a brighter tomorrow for Paris's poor brought Eponine a gleam of happiness and hope that came second to a mere brush of Marius's fingers against hers.

Marius and she had arrived late, the other revolutionaries already seated. They managed to grab a table towards the back of the tavern. Eponine took a quick glance around, noticing faces of the usual: Courfeyrac, Joly, Combeferre, Grantaire. The first three because they frequently spoke and advised Enjolras, the latter because Enjolras would always have to snap at the man to stop drinking once the meetings had begun. Those were the only names she was sure of. And, of course, Enjolras, the passionate, red-clad leader, was there.

Eponine took a moment to look at the revolutionary as he nodded at something his companion was saying. It was odd, Eponine thought, how Enjolras seemed to have so much compassion for those who lived in destitution and poverty; he seemed so far above them in the way that he stood with his back straight as a board and his shoulders set defiantly. The man always looked as if he were standing at the forefront of a battle. Eponine guessed that in a way he was; he was at the head of an uphill fight against the monarch for liberty. Enjolras ran a hand through his blonde curls. He had a gleam in his blue eyes that looked like he was getting ready to speak. Eponine couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he stepped atop one of the round tables.

"The rich get richer, the poor poorer," Enjolras said.

"In my life, she has burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun!" Marius mused a little too loudly, with Enjolras preaching his radical ideals just a few feet away. His bright eyes were trained on Eponine. Despite how much Eponine wanted to share a gaze with Marius, she couldn't help but tear her eyes away for a moment to look at the leader. He glanced in their direction but did not seem to notice Marius's proclamation. Eponine turned back to Enjolras. As France was to Enjolras, Cosette was to Marius. She was the reason for all his hope and happiness. Marius truly cared about her.

_Light of the sun._ Each of the four words was like a pinprick into Eponine's heart like a needle. _Yearning. Betrayal. Disillusionment. Rejection. _Had Marius's life really been an endless night before seeing Cosette? Was it that terrible being with just Eponine? Her empty stomach let out a loud growl as if affirming her question.

Eponine couldn't help but crack a smile as Marius grinned at the air around them like it was the face of God. True, she hadn't seen him this lively since… ever. Maybe he _was _miserable before.

Still, a small part of Eponine, a sliver the size of a crescent moon in the black sky, held onto the small spark of hope that maybe he would change towards her and realize that what he was looking for was right under his nose the whole time.

Eponine ignored the revolutionary ideas and goals that were being discussed on the opposite side of the room. If she had taken her father up on his offer of treacherousness, she would be eagerly taking notes to give to the police. Instead, she looked at the face of the boy who held her heart.

She was going to tell him tonight.

"Marius, I have something to confess. It's ridiculous that I've held it in this long," she started, unsure whether she had his attention. She went on, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. "I normally keep my thoughts to myself, but it's time for this to come out. Marius, I've known you for a while and somehow I found myself falling in love-"

"Eponine," Marius said suddenly before the brunette could finish her confession. "I know it's rude to interrupt, but I need a favor. You're the sneakiest person I know. Can you deliver this to Cosette?"

Eponine was taken aback, and she stared at Marius dumbly. Her eyes slowly shifted to a piece of parchment that was gripped in his hand. She had been so caught up in her words that she hadn't noticed him scribbling on a piece of paper right in front of her.

"Please, can you do this for love?" Marius said, his hazel eyes shining in the candlelight.

Eponine sighed. "Sure."

"You're the best," Marius said, handing it to her.

Eponine took the letter and emerged out of both the café and her reverie and into the chill of night. He didn't care about her; all he wanted was Cosette. That retched lark.

Here she was, beautiful and having everything Eponine ever dreamed of while, in their childhood, Eponine had been the one with nice clothes and parents and everything Cosette wanted. A twist of fate had sent karma crashing onto Eponine's shoulders, decking her out in rags that rivaled young Cosette's in dirtiness.

Eponine stormed through the Parisian streets towards _Rue Plumet_. She couldn't believe how clueless she'd been. Even up to her very confession of love, Marius hadn't been listening, and she hadn't even noticed. Eponine didn't consider herself stupid- she'd survived eighteen years with her street smarts- yet when it came to Marius she had been a complete idiot.

Eponine had reached the angelical _Rue Plumet_. She approached the elaborate iron gate and practically shoved the letter between the hard iron bars. She backed up, tears in her eyes.

She could always just rip the letter to shreds. Perhaps Marius would believe Cosette had gotten the letter and hadn't returned the feelings. Perhaps Cosette would believe that Marius had forgotten about her. Eponine shook her head. No, that would never work. Anyway, she didn't necessarily want to punish Cosette for Marius's wrongdoing. It wasn't the girl's fault that Marius was uncaring to his "best friend's" feelings.

Eponine was interrupted from her thoughts as she heard a voice behind her. "It's dangerous for a young girl like you to be out this late."

She turned to see a man, about her father's age, standing, arms crossed, at the cusp of a building's shadow. "Is delivering a note to your lover really worth it?"

"I'm delivering it for someone," Eponine muttered as she turned to go. She tried her best to portray disinterest and distance in her voice to give the man her own message of 'back off.'

Eponine kept walking, but the man followed her. It was possible that he was trying to be friendly, but something in Eponine's gut told her the opposite. It was odd; Eponine had always thought _Rue Plumet_ was a safer part of Paris. _No part could be completely safe,_ she decided. The images suddenly dawned on her- the flashes of dark movement in the corners of her eyes as she had walked with Marius's letter; she had been too tied up in her thoughts to realize that this man was trailing her.

Eponine tried to quicken her pace, but the man's grubby hands shot out and grabbed her by her arms. Eponine flailed and kicked as much as she could, but her feebleness derived from hunger was no match against this attacker's brute strength. She pleaded and shouted for him to let her go, back that only led to a smack to her face and her being pushed down on the pavement.

* * *

It went by quickly. Eponine forced her mind elsewhere and the man finally stood up. Noticing the girl's still body, he nudged her with his boot. Eponine let out a whimper and rolled onto her side, away from him. She heard retreating footsteps and slowly rose off the ground onto shaky legs.

She was trying to do a nice thing for Marius- that was all. And now she stalked gingerly out of the alley, her entire body feeling cold. Her stomach let out another growl. She was starving. Perhaps if she had had food in her system, she would have been able to escape. Perhaps if she hadn't acted like Marius's little shadow, this wouldn't have happened in the first place.

Damned Marius. Damned growling in her stomach. Where would she even sleep tonight? She would not be lying on the pavement again. She needed a job, but no one would hire a street urchin. A previous offer from her father dawned in her mind. She was smart enough to spy... _No_, she told herself. _You can't betray Marius like that_.

Another voice in her head piped up. _Why do you follow him around like a dog? Why have you pledged allegiance to this man who obviously doesn't care about you. Look at what he caused. He told you to go out onto the streets at night and look what happened. That's betrayal._

Why _did _Eponine feel an alliance towards Marius? He'd never done anything for her. She wanted to... get back at him. Show him that she could do something to benefit herself.

And she knew just how. She set her face into a hard mask. She wouldn't be weak anymore.

Eponine, tired of her prolonged selflessness and being wronged, walked through the cobblestone streets, a newfound purpose in her step. With this newly hatched plan, she would have it all: revenge, a meal every day, a roof over her head.

She stopped in front of the house that was once her own. She knocked on the door in the code of a friend: two short knocks followed by a harder one after a short pause.

The door opened to reveal Thenardier's narrow face.

"What do you want?"

"I've come to discuss your offer," Eponine blurted out. "I'll be your spy."

**A/N: Thanks for reading the first chapter of my first fanfiction ever. Thank you!**

**Sorry if Eponine going into her job with Thenardier seems sudden. I just wanted to get the plot moving; I've just seen too many Enjonine fics with angsty first chapters of Eponine being sad over Marius. **


	2. Chapter 2: The Man Who Would Be King

_Really? She's here _again_?_ Enjolras narrowed his sapphire eyes at the petite brunette sitting at the back table alongside Marius. Enjolras almost had to physically put a hand over his mouth to stop an exasperated sigh that threatened to escape his lips. Marius knew that Enjolras did not permit women to attend these meetings, yet he kept towing that girl behind him into the face of every meeting for the past week. Even more, the bourgeoisie boy did not even appear to be paying attention to the current topic being discussed at hand: the greed of the upper class. Marius was speaking to the girl excitedly while she gave him a short nod, a smile playing at her lips.

The girl's brown eyes flicked to Enjolras, noticing his stare, and he quickly looked back at Courfeyrac.

"How do the rich expect to hoard all the wealth in their _châteaux_ without any consequences?" Courfeyrac said, his dark brows pulling together.

"How do the poor expect to be repeatedly stolen from without any compensation?" Enjolras replied. "We must make them see that the filthy rich are stealing their futures from right under their noses!"

Enjolras pulled out the chair next to Courfeyrac. Instead of taking a seat, Enjolras boldly stepped onto the table, the fervent beating in his veins giving his feet the nimbleness of a cat.

"The rich get richer, the poor poorer," Enjolras announced, taking the attention of the room. "The rich don't see them, but we do!"

As Enjolras orated to the crowd of young men, and the girl, vehement anger bubbled in his chest; he could feel blood rushing to his face and he knew that the veins were probably showing in his neck.

"This issue is a boiling kettle moments away from screeching! When's it gonna happen? When's it gonna give?" He shouted, glancing about the room at the various enthralled faces. "It'll come! It'll come! Believe in me, it'll come!"

The libertarian continued his speech, radiating his revolutionary energy to his viewers.

Enjolras finished his speech slightly out of breath. He stepped down from the table and pulled a handkerchief out of his shirtsleeve and dabbed at his forehead. The fire that burned inside him seemed to be right next to him in the room, and he was sweating. The lover of liberty loosened the cravat from around his throat.

As he tugged it down to his collarbone, he glanced over at Marius and the girl, only to find that she was no longer there. She had left without him even noticing. How was he speaking about seeing the invisible poor when he didn't even notice when one of them walked out of his meetings? Had she been angered by something he had expressed? Enjolras turned away from both the now empty chair and the thought; she wasn't important right now.

"Excellent speech, Enjolras," Jean Prouvaire said, his chestnut curls bouncing as he nodded. "Everyone was extremely into it."

_All but one._

Enjolras nodded a stern thank you and turned to where Courfeyrac was sitting. As always, his right hand man was loyally at his side.

"We need to bring more people to these meetings to gain avid followers before we start speeches in the streets," Enjolras told him.

Courfeyrac nodded, taking note.

"I'm bringing a few friends next time," Jean Prouvaire said. "They've heard about you."

Enjolras couldn't help but let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He was building followers. "Great. Tell them to bring their hearts and minds."

"They're eager to see this man they've heard so much about."

"Well, soon enough, they'll see him making history."


	3. Chapter 3: Weasel

Eponine slowly climbed the stairs of the apartment building. The walls were scratched and dirty, but they might as well been the walls of the Palace of _Versailles_ compared to where she had previously spent her nights. She clutched the metal skeleton key in her hands. It was no longer cool to her palm, her anxious clench having stolen the chill from the metal.

She thought back to the deal she had made just three days ago. Already she was reaping the benefits.

_Eponine sat across from her father at the _Gorbeau House_. The air was thick and heavy with tension and suspense._

_"And what all do I get in return?" Eponine wagered, part of her recoiled when she saw Thenardier take a breath to reply._

_"You can keep all the provisions we give you to pull this off," Thenardier replied, clasping his thin fingers together over the tabletop. "The family won't shun you anymore. The will find a friend in _Patron-Minette. _I will assure you that you will no longer go hungry _or _homeless. The benefits are endless, really."_

_Eponine sat back in her chair, nodding. What were the disadvantages of this scheme? _

_She would lose Marius. _

_Psh, she had already lost him. _

_Every young Republican in France would probably hate her. _

_That wouldn't matter. They'd either be arrested or dead. She felt a twinge of guilt. Wait, why was she showing compassion to them? They'd never shown an ounce of compassion to her._

_"'Ponine, my dear, get close to them," Thenardier said. "Get yourself under their skin. To be a rat, you need to act the part 24/7."_

_"I've done cons before, _père_," Eponine purred. "You know that if anyone can what she wants from a man, it's me."_

_"True," her father said, stroking his chin, "you do have the gift of manipulation."_

_Neither Eponine nor her father were talking her up; she was tremendous at swindling money out of people of the street. She had the looks and talent of sweet-talking to give her an enchanting atmosphere that made it hard for anyone to resist. Countless times she had distracted men for long enough for Montparnasse or her father to snatch their wallets from their pockets. It almost seemed that Eponine could get anything she wanted from a man. _

Well, almost, _Eponine thought bitterly, Marius's face dawning in her mind. This only fueled her willingness. "I will befriend them and send letters of their plans to the police—"_

_"Don't send them to the police, send them directly to me," Thenardier interrupted._

_"Alright, and where will I live? I cannot be seen walking into the home of a police informant every night."_

_The room was graced with momentary silence. "I'm sure Inspector Javert will be able to arrange for that."_

And arranged for that he did. Eponine gazed at the door of her new tenement in wonder. The door was painted a dark violet, strips of paint ripped off here and there to reveal fawn pinewood.

She slid the key into the lock and turned it sideways, hearing the favorable click of admission. Upon entering the room, Eponine saw, with delight, a quaint little one bedroom apartment; all she needed. The entrance fed into a small living area, already situated with the necessary furniture: a couch, a chair, and a coffee table. A small writing desk sat next to the door of her bedroom. In the bedroom, there was a mattress with a quilt already resting upon it. Next to that, there was a nightstand.

Inspector Javert had told Eponine in the short note attached to the key that the apartment was threadbare in order to avoid suspicion. Eponine was actually glad. She had feared that if she suddenly started sporting a wealthier lifestyle, the _Les Amis_ would get suspicious or mistake her for a whore.

Eponine approached the bed and lay down upon it, savoring the soft indentation her body made in the mattress. All she had to do was weasel her way into the heart of Enjolras, the great leader, and all this would be hers. She could finally live comfortably. Well, comfortably, on her terms.

The way she would extract information from Enjolras would be with her feminine charms. Sure, the man seemed cold and distance, but he wasn't immune to feeling.

Eponine glanced outside. The sun was setting behind clouds near the horizon. The meeting would probably be starting soon in _Café Musain_. Of course Enjolras would make the meeting on a Friday night.

Eponine begrudgingly left her new bed and walked over to the small washroom located on the other wall of the bedroom. Inside, there was a small, oval-shaped mirror. Eponine stared at her shabby reflection. Her large brown orbs stared back at her through some of the scraggly, dark chocolate colored bangs that framed her face. She attempted run her fingers through the waves in an attempt to restore some order to her hair. She backed up as much as she could—only taking one step backwards before her back hit the beige wall—to take a look at her outfit. It was plain and tattered with the simple chemise and skirt that looked like a ragged pirate flag near her bare ankles.

Still, Eponine put on her confident face. It was time to crack the marble man of liberty.

* * *

Enjolras perused the crowd that was scattered about in the seats of the _Café Musain._ There were a few familiar faces, including the two new friends Jean Prouvaire had talked about. Enjolras inadvertently flicked a blue glance at the outskirts of the room.

She was there again, in a table in the back. This time, with no Marius.

_Let's see if she'll stay the whole time this time,_ Enjolras thought. _Then I'll tell her to leave._

Enjolras stood rigid-backed at the front of the room in head of his speech. He clenched his empty hands at his sides. Wait, did that seem too volatile for a woman? Enjolras did not know their preferences and tempers. He wanted to avoid seeming like another radical and violent Robespierre.

Enjolras sneaked another glance at the woman to find that she was staring right back, her tan arms crossed over her torso. Her dark eyes met his and he looked away, not willing himself to get distracted.

He wished he had some notecards to shuffle or hold, but he never needed notes. He had all the ideas flowing systematically through his head like waters of the Seine.

Enjolras took a deep breath and started his speech. "Every day, we gain strength. Strength to stand up to the juggernaut of the monarchy," he said.

Enjolras continued speak, meeting the eyes of each of his viewers. When he met the eyes of the girl, she leaned back in her chair and blinked slowly.

It made Enjolras feel uncomfortable, and he avoided her piercing gaze for the rest of the meeting. Still, even when ignored, he could feel its presence like the chill of a spirit.

* * *

The meeting was over and most of the_ Les Amis_ had filtered out. They were going to… someplace. Enjolras hadn't listened to the others' after-meeting plans very much. No one directly invited him, either; after countless times of inviting him to tag along and being rejected, the other young men no longer bothered.

Enjolras turned to the papers and maps he had scattered about a table. He sensed a presence remaining in the room and turned. "Grantaire, I told you—oh."

It wasn't the dark haired drunkard lingering with his hands behind his back, but the woman.

Eponine rolled her shoulders back, bearing her bosom proudly. "You called me Grantaire, monsieur. Hopefully you do not think I resemble him." She smiled brazenly at her little joke.

Enjolras swallowed. "Of course not, mademoiselle."

He still seemed uninterested in her. Surely his papers could not have been more interesting than the flirtatious woman in front of him. "Well," she said, strolling forward, "may I speak with you for a moment, whether I'm Grantaire or not?"

"Actually," the golden haired man replied, "I've needed to speak with you for quite some time."

"You first, monsieur," Eponine coaxed, waving a thin hand in a gesture for them both to set at the wooden chairs under the table.

"I'd prefer to stand," Enjolras responded firmly. "If that does not irritate you."

Eponine almost snorted at his strict formality. "I can do it anyway you want," she replied.

The comment was intended to sound seductive, but Enjolras did not even reveal so much as a stutter or creasing of the brow. Perhaps he had not noticed the salacious comment.

"It has come to my attention that you have been attending quite a few of our meetings," Enjolras said formally.

"Yes, I've been to five I believe," Eponine replied, briefly pausing to count the visits in her head. "I enjoy hearing the ideas from where I'm sitting."

"Well, I regret to inform you that women are not allowed to attend these meetings," Enjolras continued, looking down at her.

Eponine was truly taken aback. "What?" The word escaped her mouth without her even thinking.

"I will have to ask you to cease attending."

This was a complete plan changer. If she couldn't attend the meetings then how would she get close to them? Her whole plan was dependent on her being in the meetings and if she couldn't be in the meetings then what was she going to tell her father? Eponine urged her heart to stop beating and her mind to stop racing.

"So I do not have the right to attend?" she asked, regaining her composure. She met his gaze equally.

"No, you do not," Enjolras said stiffly. "The Pontmercy boy is fully aware of that rule. I don't know why he failed to tell you."

"So I do not have the right to attend," Eponine repeated thoughtfully, earning a nod in reply from Enjolras. "I must ask, monsieur; by denying me the right to attend such revolutionary meetings, isn't that going against what your entire cause is about?"

Enjolras was silent. Eponine smirked. She had raised a valid question that he did not know the answer to, and he knew it. "Well," Enjolras said, having regained his gift of words, "this early in the revolution, we are just inviting other students from around Paris."

"So am I being excluded because I am a woman or because I am not a student?" Eponine asked harshly. She took a step closer to the "revolutionary" leader.

"Because you are not a student," Enjolras replied firmly.

"So the revolution is only for those who can afford education?" Eponine spat. "Well I don't know how you are going to gain the trust of the poor of France like that. Don't tell me this is going to be a rich man's cause."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Enjolras sputtered.

"Then it's because I'm a woman?" Eponine pressed, not giving him time to answer, "If you do not believe women have a place in the republic, then you are leaving out a vast chunk of the people of France. Do you think that someone cannot handle politics because they have a different body from you? Do you think that someone will not be able to put forth helpful ideas if they have never attended proper schooling? I may not carry bulky books like you and your friends, but there are lots of things I know. I could probably tell you more about the seedy underbelly of Paris than a mere book can, yet you are now telling me to leave because I am a woman and I do not go to a University.

You cannot expect for the people to stand behind someone who, like the monarchy that chokes them now, excludes them because of intellectual or gender reasons. If you do the same, you are no better than them. Then you are no better than a hypocrite! You speak of liberty, but you are only speaking words of deceit until you give each citizen a chance for a brighter future. You may try to speak for them, but now I don't think you understand the poor, or even true liberty, at that."

Eponine tucked her head down and sucked in a breath, slightly winded from her diatribe. "Monsieur," she added after a beat in a weak attempt to sound polite. Who was she kidding? She just slapped him in the face with her words. She gathered the courage to look up at the leader's face. As Eponine did this, she willed her face not to look as nervous as she really felt. She could have just blown her entire operation. After calling the revolutionary leader a liar and a hypocrite to his face, she could be shunned forever.

Eponine clenched her jaw and met the marble man's gaze. His blue eyes were wide and his lips were agape. His mouth remained open, even though no sound was emitted. He looked like he was singing a long note in an opera. In a way, his gawking stare looked… scared. Eponine didn't even know what to do. She had expected a fiery reply, and the silence that simmered in the room was a shocking contrary. She hoped she could handle anything that might come next, and knew that she probably could, that is, unless the man burst out into tears over having a woman rip his argument to shreds.

Luckily, no tears were shed. He gathered his wits and took a deep breath, the blush on his cheeks still providing rouge. Enjolras straightened and held out his hand, a look of contentment on his sculpted face.

Eponine peered down at the hand in confusion, almost recoiling. It took her a few moments to realize that he wanted her to shake her hand. Was this the sign of a compromise? An admittance of defeat?

Eponine took his hand in hers, and she was shocked by the heat radiating off of it. This man had to have been heated, literally, from the argument. In contrast to Marius's, his hand was rough and callused, odd for a bourgeoisie.

"Mademoiselle," Enjolras said, leading Eponine to crane her neck to see his face again, "you have proven yourself to be an advanced debater. And you have opened my eyes to the fallacies in my ideas. Thus, I would like to formally invite you to attend our next meeting, here, in _Café Musain_ on Monday night."

_Wow_, Eponine though, _I'm actually being rewarded by yelling at him_.

"Thank you," Eponine said, unaware of the smile gracing her face. "So you are not angry?"

"At what would I be angry?" Enjolras asked, frowning and tilting his head to the side.

"I thought that maybe you would be angry since I protested so heatedly…"

"No," Enjolras said, almost with a laugh—Eponine didn't think he could ever truly laugh—"Our cause in itself is a protest against the monarchy. It only makes sense for you to point out the flaws in my view of liberty."

"Then I supposed I'm pleased I did," Eponine said, reverting back to her aura of feminine allure.

"I believe you wanted to ask me a question?" Enjolras added.

"Yes," Eponine said, sweeping her hair onto one shoulder. She hoped that his eyes would trail the movement of her tresses, ending the sapphire scales at her breasts, but his blue eyes remained resiliently locked to hers. This man was more innocent and chaste than Astraea* herself. "I was so intrigued by you and your revolution that I wanted to drop by and ask what… ideas you had in mind. For the future. And the road to it."

She turned and looked at the various papers scattered about the table. She put one hand on the table and leaned over, keeping her back arched, and grabbed one of the hastily scrawled papers. She threw a glance at Enjolras over the dark curtain of her hair. "For instance, how do you expect to spread your ideas to the poor when they can't read?" Eponine perused the notes on the sheet, picking up scraps of words like 'Lamarque,' 'letters of plea,' 'representation,' and 'John Locke.' The words were lifted upwards from her view as Enjolras reached a long limb around her and pulled the sheet over her head.

"_That_ is for my eyes only," Enjolras said.

"What else is for _your eyes only_?" Eponine asked coyly, looking up at him through dark lashes. "Doesn't a leader tell his comrades his plans?"

"Not all of them," Enjolras said, a grim smirk at his lips. He stepped between Eponine at the table, a tight squeeze, he noticed, as did she. He pulled the rest of the eggshell colored papers into an askew stack and stuffed them into a messenger bag. He grabbed the large map that was resting underneath the paper and began rolling it up. Eponine noted the red dots that were jiggling about on the map's surface as it was being curled into a cylinder.

"Don't tell me that my pestering has made you retire early, monsieur," Eponine drawled. She noticed that Enjolras swiftly glanced a weary look at the small space between him. She stepped back, allowing two feet of boundary between them.

Pestering _would be the correct word_, Enjolras thought grimly.

"No, mademoiselle, I'm afraid I just have a some work to do that I would rather do in the comfort of my flat," he said, keeping the annoyance out of his tone as he swung the bag over one broad shoulder. He nodded his head at the petite mademoiselle. "_Bonne nuit._"

"Enjolras, wait," Eponine said, impromptu. She reached out and grabbed the wisp of his shirt sleeve, for he had no jacket on tonight. Enjolras glanced down at her hand, but Eponine, determined to get at least one reaction from the marble man tonight, didn't let go. Instead, she let her fingers linger, lightly feeling her fingers brush the firmness of his arm. She struck a smile. "I am truly delighted to be attending Monday's meeting. I will bring my wit and ideas."

Enjolras nodded curtly, shrugging out of her grasp. "As expected, mademoiselle. Be safe."

Enjolras then stalked out of the room, leaving Eponine alone. She rolled her eyes and looked back over the table, hoping that he would have left at least a notecard in his haste. Her search was in vain, and she decided that it was best to go home before the streets were littered with too many drunks and thieves.

She had one victory to account for tonight: the invitation to attend every meeting now. That was a huge step. However, Eponine was puzzled over Enjolras's seeming immunity to human charms. He hadn't reacted to any of her tricks. It was almost as if his mind was focused with a magnifying glass on this so-called _Patria_ that he frequently referred to in his bombastic speeches.

Patria_ may be what you are committed to, but I'm sure I'm better company,_ Eponine thought bitterly, wrapping her arms around her as she stepped into the night on the way to her new lodgings.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review and follow- that makes me happier than Enj when he thinks of a free France. If you are on tumblr, my url is marblefacade!**

***: Astraea: An Ancient Greek personification of justice who is also associated with purity and innocence. **


	4. Chapter 4: Shoes

"Never before have I met a man so immune to the touch of a woman," Eponine raved as she leaned against a table in the _Gorbeau House_.

"No man is immune to the tender touch of a woman," Thenardier assured from his seat, a smirk on his face. He looked back down and continued to clean his pistol. Eponine noted that he was in his powder blue police uniform, similar to the one Javert wore.

"Every advance I made on him, he either didn't notice or didn't react," she grumbled, mostly to herself, as she tore the flaky croissant in half. "How am I supposed to get him to love me and tell me his secrets if he won't even react when I make an advance?"

"Did you consider that he's not attracted to you?" a voice drawled, emerging from the hallway. It was Montparnasse. He looked as he usually did, his black waves hidden under a gray top hat and his outfit decked out to the nines. His dapper look included a plum colored jacket with a wasp-like peplum bottom and black trousers that reached polished boots.

"What are you trying to say?" Eponine said indignantly, a scowl marking her features. She bit back a sharp remark about him eavesdropping and the fact that this was a secret operation, not to be discussed with anyone but her, her father, and Inspector Javert.

"Do not take it as a slight to your appearance, 'Ponine," Montparnasse smirked. "All I'm saying is that he may not be attracted to women. He may be… well, you know…?"

There was a brief second in which his audience registered what he was saying.

"No, no, no," Eponine said at last, shaking her head, "he's not… no."

"I could see it…" Montparnasse continued in a sing song manner.

Eponine knew that the criminal was just trying to scare her, but part of her thought that he raised a very valid point. If Enjolras was not attracted to women, then how was she going to gain his favor? She supposed she would have to change her entire approach, and that she was not eager to do.

"Don't worry, 'Ponine," Thenardier said, placing the metal barrel of his gun on the table and flicking his short-cropped head towards the young murderer. "He's full of hot air. Don't let him scare you."

Eponine glanced over at Montparnasse, who was still lingering on the outskirts of the room, a lopsided smile on his face. The logical part of her brain nodded. Montparnasse despised the student revolutionaries and probably didn't like the idea of her trying to seduce one, no matter how unresponsive the said revolutionary seemed at this point.

"I'm saying that you keep on trying," Thenardier went on. "Be persistent and don't give up until you succeed. If you don't, you're going back out onto the street."

"I know,_ père_," Eponine muttered. "He's just so… stiff all the time."

"Well, he's obviously not _stiff_ enough," Montparnasse laughed, "judging by the way things are going."

Eponine made a face at the inappropriate remark. She resorted to eating the rest of her breakfast and lifting herself off the table. "I should be on my way. It'll be getting light soon."

"You should be going as well, Montparnasse," Thenardier said, glancing at his dingy pocket watch. "It's getting late and I can't have any colleagues seeing a thief exiting my house."

"I suppose you're correct," Montparnasse reckoned. Both he and Eponine knew of the dangerous game that Thenardier played; welcoming thieves to his home during the night and police officers during the day. If anyone on the force ever knew of Thenardier's side business with _Patron-Minette_, he would surely be arrested, even killed. Thenardier's protective embrace around the gang allowed them to kill and rob whomever they pleased without worrying about the police catching their trail.

Eponine left through the back door, still glancing both ways before stepping into the empty alleyway. She glanced at the sky. Thenardier was right; the navy blue of dawn was fading to a cobalt of midday. The color was now like the color of Enjolras's eyes.

"I can walk you home," Montparnasse's smooth tenor sounded from behind her.

Eponine made an exasperated look and cleared it before turned to face him. "Why the sudden outburst of chivalry?"

Montparnasse put a hand to his chest in an expression of mock hurt. "Can't a man do something nice for a lovely lady without being questioned?"

Eponine knew his motives; she didn't even have to ask. "If you are taking a step towards being a gentleman, then I will not criticize it." She placed her hand in the wiry crook of Montparnasse's offered arm, and the two began walking through the alley.

"So tell me more about this leader," Montparnasse went on.

It made Eponine apprehensive that he knew about the plan. Montparnasse was a drifter, neither on Thenardier's side nor hers. He acted in self-interest and could never guarantee to wholly follow any order. If Montparnasse was in any way jealous of Eponine's intentions towards the leader, then he could easily step in the way and destroy everything like a child with an unsteady tower of building blocks.

"He's dreadfully boring and painfully proper," Eponine purred, stroking Montparnasse's arm with her free hand. "A definite wet blanket with his mind focused solely on justice."

"What does he look like?" Eponine could detect the angst in his voice. It was faint and barely perceivable, like one's reflection in rippling water.

"He has messy blonde curls and cold blue eyes," Eponine said bluntly. She normally would goad Montparnasse on with speaking of the marble man's chiseled jaw and powerful stare, but not now, knowing of possible outcomes of the thief's jealousy. "He's not nearly as attractive as _you_, Montparnasse."

Montparnasse's lips, the color of rose tea, twitched into a smirk. "Obviously," he replied smugly.

"So I've heard about your knew lodgings," Montparnasse went on. "And I just can't stop thinking of you, in that apartment, all alone…"

"What about it? I can handle myself, as you know," Eponine replied. She was all alone when she had to sleep in alleys, as well, but Montparnasse hadn't cared.

"Well," he articulated, stopping their progress before they reached a busy marketplace. He traced a thin finger along her smooth jawbone. 'Parnasse's hands were long, pianist's hands, although he had no musical talent to Eponine's knowledge. Perhaps he could have been an excellent musician if he hadn't resorted to a life of crime. "If you are ever looking for company…"

She clasped her hand over his. "…I'll know where to find it," she finished. She could hear the hustle and bustle of people passing by with horse-drawn carts and crates filled with various goods.

Montparnasse put his right palm against the wall, providing a barrier between their secluded alleyway and the entrance into the crowded square. He leaned into her, letting her get a good look at his face. Beneath the brim of the hat, his dark hair curled at his high cheekbones. His emerald green eyes stared desirously at Eponine. Montparnasse would have been a sight for sore eyes if Eponine had not known the cruel thoughts that swam behind his pretty façade. Her brown eyes looked into the green ones, and the colors of the earth became closer as Montparnasse leaned in to capture her lips with his.

Eponine purposefully did little to resist or to succumb. She was neither going to turn him away nor lead him on. Montparnasse tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing her bottom lip as a request of passage. Eponine parted her lips, allowing Montparnasse have his fill. She heard the man breathe a sigh as he drew away.

Eponine met his satisfied gaze with a small smile. Montparnasse put his arm around her waist and continued into the square, more swagger in his stride. Eponine, of course, attempted to be more cautious in her step. She kept a wary eye on the inhabitants of the plaza. She didn't want to be seen with Montparnasse by anyone who could possibly have a connection to Enjolras, or even worse, the marble man himself. Plus, she was barefoot and would not appreciate anyone stepping on her foot; the rough cobblestone pavement was bad enough.

Montparnasse, however, was clad in leather boots and could step through any puddle of filth and not be delayed, so he pulled Eponine along after him, not paying her any mind. He pulled her close to him and she hopped against him to avoid stepping in a pile of manure.

"You know, a pair of shoes would be great for these situations," Eponine said.

Montparnasse absentmindedly glanced over. "Hm?"

"I was just saying that I would love a pair of shoes right about now," Eponine repeated, louder and more forcefully this time.

"Oh, too bad," Montparnasse replied. They were almost out of the thick of the crowd.

"Don't you want to get me some?"

Montparnasse turned to her once they were not being jostled by other bodies. In the sidewalk on the outskirts of the square, the couple could comfortable stand without their personal space being breached. However, Eponine knew hers was probably going to be breached anyway. "Why would I spend _my_ money on shoes for _you_?"

"Because you like me so much," Eponine smiled, tilting her head to the side cheekily. "I bet Enjolras would buy me shoes. He loves helping the poor." She was going to try to use this rivalry to her advantage.

Montparnasse stepped closer to Eponine. "Why would I give a shit about your feet when all I care about being pretty is your face?" he asked rhetorically, cupping her face in his hand.

"Wow, Montparnasse," Eponine replied, her smile fading into a frown. "I'm shocked at your audacity."

"Someone could burn your feet with a thousand hot irons and I wouldn't give a damn," he said, moving closer. Eponine took a glance around at the other civilians as she felt his puffs of breath on her face. No one appeared to be watching; they were all preoccupied. "But Lord help whoever decides to harm your pretty face."

He leaned in to kiss her once more, entwining his hand in her messy brown waves. Eponine resented his mouth on hers. Her plan had failed. She kept her eyes open to survey the street for dangers.

Suddenly, she saw what she had been worrying about all long. It was the face of two of the_ Les Amis_, Courfeyrac and Combeferre, walking right in their path.

"Hide!" Eponine chocked out, pushing Montparnasse off her. "It's them!"

Montparnasse pulled away, alarmed. He didn't know who exactly she meant by "them," but for a criminal, any possible "them" was a danger. Montparnasse glanced around for an escape route and, seeing one, pushed Eponine out of his way to slip into the crowd. His shove caused Eponine to stumble backward, away from the two students. She tried to turn and get away from their sight as well, but as she tried to run forward, her foot got caught on an uneven cobblestone, sending her plummeting to her knees.

Her foot stung on the heel where the jagged stone had sliced through it, and Eponine knew that her knees were skinned. She, however, didn't even have time to react because, immediately after she fell, another calamity occurred.

She had fallen to the ground right in front of a carriage. She scrambled up and quickly tried to move out of the way, but she bumped into the chest of the black stallion that now towered above her. Eponine let out an involuntary scream, only worsening the situation. The whites of the horse's eyes shone as it balked at the creature crumpled on the ground in front of it. Its ears pinned back against its skull as it began to panic. Without warning, the spooked horse reared up in fright, letting out a bloodcurdling whinny. The rearing animal blocked out the sun. Eponine was left in its shadow, alone with her screams, as she stared up at the sharp hooves about to collide with her face.

**A/N: Oh no! What will happen to our dear heroine? **

**Sidenote: Yeah, Montparnasse has swagger. Justin Bieber would be proud. Hey, maybe Montparnasse is his great ancestor. Hello, new headcannon! **

**Feel free to follow, favorite, review or suggest. Reviews make me happier than Montparnasse in a new coat.**


	5. Chapter 5: A Stinging Laceration

**I do not own Les Miserables. I am not a 19th century Frenchmen.**

Eponine held a forearm up in front of her face, knowing that it would do little to protect her from the hooves that were about to rain down on her figure.

She was prepared for the painful end, but an unexpected pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her, yanking her out of the horse's path. Eponine let her savior's arms close around her like a coat, pressing her shaking hands to her chest. From her new spot, she saw the stallion's strong hooves strike the ground where she had previously been standing. Although unharmed, the breath left Eponine lungs as if the horse had in fact stomped on them.

The driver of the carriage jumped down a pulled the horse down by its reins. "Damned _gamine_!" he growled over his shoulder at her before he calmed the horse down.

"Let's go," her rescuer said, guiding her away with an arm around her shoulders. Eponine glanced over at him to see the face of her rescuer. Her blood ran cold as she recognized the recognized the owner of the strong jaw and messy, blonde curls.

"Monsieur Enjolras," she breathed, her eyes wide. She wiped away a tear that had been shed unnoticed in the altercation.

His tense stare glanced down at her. "Come on," Enjolras said, "we need to get someplace more private."

Eponine sucked in a tiny gasp. Had he seen her with Montparnasse? Had he seen the kiss? How had she not noticed his face in the crowd? She glanced back at the scene. The horse was calm now and the Combeferre and Courfeyrac were looking at a fruit stand, appearing to have missed the entire exchange. At least she didn't have to worry about them telling anyone. _Dammit, Montparnasse_, she seethed. Enjolras didn't appear to have seen anything, but his blue eyes were unreadable, as always.

Eponine was ripped from her thoughts with a cry as pain shot up her leg, reverberating from the split at the front of her heel. With each uneven step, more dirt was being shoved into it, and she had just stepped on another sharp stone.

Enjolras glanced down, alarmed. "Mademoiselle," he said, stopping their progress on the Parisian street, "what is wrong?"

"My foot is badly cut," she replied, standing with her right foot cocked above the ground like a lame horse.

Enjolras frowned and glanced down the street. "Can you make it to the _Café_?"

Eponine surveyed their surroundings. The _Café_ wasn't for another two miles, grueling with her injured foot. Still, she nodded her head yes.

Enjolras continued forward with his long stride, his hand holding onto hers. Eponine struggled to keep up, attempting to arch her foot to avoid the laceration touching the ground. Eponine's arm was fully extending in front of her, emphasizing the distance between her and the man. Eponine took another step, this time larger to fill the gap, but stepped on a shard of glance that a careless drunk hadn't bothered to pick up after shattering his wine bottle.

She hissed and let go of his hand. Both her hands instinctively shot down to her foot, as if their hovering around the wound would help it somehow. Pulling up her skirt to look down at her foot, Eponine also noticed the rivulets of blood lining her shins from her bloody knees. Her left hand was painted red from holding her sliced heel. She breathed a shaky sigh and closed her eyes, begging the pain to go away.

_Please, just stop hurting_, Eponine prayed. _Please don't be as bad as you seem. _

She tried not to think of what the consequences would be if she were badly injured. Would she be able to walk? She couldn't be immobile for more than a few hours. How would she survive if she could barely get around? She didn't have any medical supplies to bind the wound.

She tried to keep the ominous thoughts away, but they stayed imprinted on her mind, causing tears of panic to well up in her eyes. She shuddered a sob and opened them to the red clad leader standing in front of her.

Through her tears, she could see a slightly blurry expression of concern on his face. He walked towards her to, as Eponine assumed, take her hand again. Eponine didn't think she could endure a moment longer of being dragged through the streets. "Monsieur, I can't-"

"Then I'll carry you."

Eponine stopped her declaration of defeat as Enjolras wrapped his arms around her. He curled one arm around her back and the other beneath her thighs. The ground was left behind as he proceeded to pick her up, holding her frail body against him.

Wordlessly, Enjolras continued to march on, carrying his fallen comrade. The rhythmic swaying rocked Eponine against his firm chest. She grasped lining of his jacket to steady herself. She stabilized her disoriented breathing as she looked up at him.

He looked as he always did: determined, staring forward at his destination. He flicked a blue glance down at her mystified face. She glanced back down, not wanted to lock eyes with him. Eponine felt almost embarrassed, exposed. Never before had she been so helpless as to need someone to completely support her. She wanted to fight her way out of his arms, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to walk on her own.

She settled with looking at the buildings and street corners that they passed. She recognized the street they were on; she had been here countless times. In fact, she recalled a rather unpleasant memory of her crying over Marius while she wandered down this very path. She had been completely alone then, but this instance, she had someone holding her.

She leaned her head against Enjolras's warm and solid chest. She inhaled his scent. He smelled like clean linen and soap. She slowly remembered her job and made a point to make the notion more romantic. As she did this, giving in to his embrace, she felt him flinch. It was slight, ever so slight. He did not want to be intimate with her, that was already apparent, but this was a small step towards her getting closer to him. It was progress.

* * *

Enjolras had a little trouble walking through the door of the _Café Musain_. He had to turn to the side in order to avoid bumping Eponine's head on the door frame. Once the couple was within the walls of the near-empty tavern, Eponine tried to get down and support herself, but Enjolras did not budge, keeping her trapped in his arms.

"Musichetta," Enjolras called. At this, a woman with nearly black ringlets and a lavender dress popped up from behind the bar. She was strikingly beautiful, but Enjolras spoke to her with haste. "We will be upstairs. The kit is there, correct?"

The woman's sage green eyes were filled with bafflement, but she nodded her head yes. "He always keeps it up there," she said, her voice a high soprano.

"Thank you," Enjolras said, glancing down to see a red stain where Eponine's bloody knee had soaked through the thin fabric of her skirt. "We will call you if we need you."

Eponine didn't see the barmaid's reaction, for she was now staring at the seemingly impossible feat of the stairs. Enjolras, however, was unfazed, marching on like a soldier into battle. Almost as if he had rehearsed such trips, he tightened his grip on Eponine. He went up the stairs, hardly hindered by the woman he carried. Eponine glanced back down the stairs to see the steps that they had conquered. She let out a sigh of relief that they were nearly to the end.

Enjolras stopped for a moment and inhaled a breath.

"Am I too heavy, monsieur?" Eponine asked, shifting in his cradle. "I think I can walk from here."

Enjolras, however, tightened his grip on her. "I've carried text books heavier than you, mademoiselle," there was a certain strain in the sentence. Eponine was unsure whether it was the attempt to avoid a chuckle or if he was simply lying, out of breath from carrying her.

Enjolras's scuffed black boots stepped onto the flat wood of the_ Café Musain's_ second floor, and Eponine, ignoring his previous assurance, squirmed from Enjolras's grip, letting her uninjured foot touch the smooth floor. Enjolras looked like he was about to protest, but she nodded her head towards her legs, indicating that she could limp the distance. He reluctantly nodded, but insisted on supporting her by making the girl lean on his shoulder. The two made their way over to the closest table.

Enjolras pulled out a chair with his free arm. "Sit here, mademoiselle."

"You don't have to call me that," Eponine mumbled, obeying his command, "I'm not a mademoiselle."

"Well, I do not know your name," was the short reply.

"Eponine," she said, looking up at him.

Enjolras looked at her face for a moment, registering the name. "Well, _Eponine_, the café has a first aid kit, on Joly's insistence, so you should be just fine."

Eponine smiled in thankfulness as her hero and victim walked over to the chest of drawers that was shoved up against the peeling wallpaper. Enjolras opened the top one and pulled out a box, the size of a large book. He walked over to where Eponine was sitting and placed it on the table, kneeling in front of her as if he were about to propose. He opened the chest up, pulling out a roll of gauze, scissors, a rag, and a vial of something Eponine knew would sting.

Eponine put her injured foot on top of the opposite knee, sitting in a form of crossed legs that Marius often positioned himself in during the meetings. She quickly blocked him out of her mind and focused on the task at hand. She wasn't sure which stung worse, her foot or the memory. She hissed and chose the foot as, without warning, Enjolras upended the vial onto the rag and pressed it against her foot.

Enjolras glanced up, his blonde mess of curls seeming to bounce with the movement. "Did I hurt you, Eponine?" he asked. Her name sounded odd and unnatural on his lips, like it was an impure word that a man of such justness should not have been uttering.

"I was just surprised at the sting, monsieur," Eponine replied. "I think I may have stepped on some glass during our journey, as well."

Enjolras nodded, a crease forming between his brows. He wished that Joly was here to do this, but he was in class. Joly had actual knowledge of such procedures and a much more precise hand. Enjolras cautiously pulled a pair of sinister looking, silver tweezers from the first aid kit. He looked at the wound again. It was a clear laceration, having been caused quickly. There did appear to be some sort of blood soaked piece of glass in the wound, but Enjolras was reluctant to dive in and retrieve it. The feeling of inadequacy was foreign, never before had Enjolras felt so out of his element.

To Enjolras's relief, Eponine piped up. "I can do it, monsieur. I've healed many of my sister's wounds before."

_Why didn't she say that earlier?_

Enjolras handed the tweezers to Eponine. She peered down at her foot. Upon removing the clear shard of glass, she felt the pulsating pain in her heel go down significantly. Enjolras then handed her the rag with the painful antiseptic on it. She pressed it against the heel, unenthusiastically welcoming the stinging sensation of bacteria being killed.

"I will begin cutting up gauze for the wrapping," Enjolras said.

Eponine nodded. "Thank you, monsieur Enjolras," she said after a beat, "for saving me from that spooked horse."

"It is no problem," Enjolras replied, keeping his eyes focused on the task of creating strips of gauze. "Thank goodness you lived."

"Yes," Eponine replied cheerfully, "I can make it to your meeting on Monday now!"

Enjolras let out a short, involuntary laugh. Eponine's lips twitched upward. So the man _could_ laugh.

"And the boys tell me that I have _my_ priorities in the wrong place," Enjolras said, trying to stifle his smile.

"I can't help it, monsieur," Eponine replied, still holding the rag to her wound. "I'm excited to meet all the others."

"Well, soon you will, mademoiselle."

"I told you not to call me mademoiselle," Eponine said.

"Then you should not call me monsieur," Enjolras replied.

"But you are of the bourgeoisie, monsieur," Eponine argued, "you are of wealth and ranking. I should address you properly."

"For you to give me a formal address and for me to only call you by your given name, that would be a breach of equality," Enjolras said, "the very thing I seek most in this society. If you call me monsieur, I will call you mademoiselle. If you call me Enjolras, I will call you Eponine."

"Fine, _Enjolras_."

Enjolras gave a satisfied smirk at the sound of his name and winning an argument with the stubborn _grisette._ There was a lapse of silence between the two as Eponine cleaned her wound and Enjolras perused his self-made bandages.

"Do you keep a mistress?" Eponine said, breaking the silence.

Enjolras nearly dropped the bandage he was holding. "_Pardon_?" he yelped.

"All your friends seem to," Eponine replied.

"Well I am not my friends," Enjolras answered, regaining his composure.

"That you aren't," Eponine replied, looking up at him. "Are you attracted to women?"

Enjolras was taken aback. What was with the influx of random personal questions? "Yes, I am," Enjolras replied hotly. "Just because I do not keep a woman does not mean that I participate in pederasty*."

"I know, mon- Enjolras," Eponine replied, relieved but not showing it, "I just couldn't help but wonder."

"I'd prefer to keep my mind of the revolution at hand," Enjolras said, looking down and straightening the bandage between his fingers. Doing this, he missed Eponine roll her eyes. "The only one I love is _Patria_. I am fully committed to the homeland and I will do anything it takes to save her."

_Well, I am fully committed to keeping myself fed and I will do anything to exploit you_, was Eponine's silent reply.

"That is very noble of you," Eponine replied, this time out loud. "I hope I do not distract you too much." Eponine was placated to find that she could, in fact, seduce the man. He said that he would not love a woman, but like her father had said, no man was immune to them. It would take skill and goading, but she was sure she could do it.

"No, Eponine," he said, "you are a lady of the Republic and it is my duty to serve you. Is it time to bind your wound?" He was eager to change the subject.

Eponine nodded and took a piece of gauze from him. Together, they managed to make a binding for the wound. It involved wrapping the cloth around the bridge of her foot and up around the ankle. Eponine did most of the work, and Enjolras only served to hold the gauze in place before she could secure it with a pin.

"That seems to be good," Enjolras said, admiring their handiwork. "We were a skilled team."

"Hopefully, you will be skilled at handling this, as well," Eponine murmured, slowly drawing her skirt up to her tan thighs. She let the cotton of her chemise drag across the skin before letting it stop in a rippling bundle mid thigh. She looked up from her knees at Enjolras's now standing figure. She could see the slight blush creeping up on his hard face. "You forgot that there was more work to be done. I took quite a fall."

Enjolras stood still like a marble statue, his tongue unable to form a reply, his eyes locked on the sight in front of him. Never before had he seen the smooth skin of a woman's leg, and Eponine sat there sultrily in the chair, bearing it to him. The fabric of the chemise seemed to be just as soft as the skin on her legs. He had never imagined that beneath a woman's layers that the skin would be so unlike the opposite gender's... Enjolras could even say that he was previously unaware of this thing called a woman.

"What's wrong, Enjolras? Cat's got your tongue?" Eponine asked playfully.

Enjolras blinked himself out of his mesmerized captivity. "It appears that we have crossed some boundary, mademoiselle," he managed. "I've got to go to affairs—I mean—handle some class." With that, he fled from the room, leaving Eponine to lean back and silently bestow upon herself a flood of curses.

***Pederasty is a homosexual relationship between an adult male and a younger boy. However, in the 19****th**** century, it was used as a term speaking of homosexual love between two men. I am not trying to put a negative light on homosexuality, but it was the term used for it then.**

**A/N: Remember to review! What did you like about this? Are they in character? Remember, reviews make me happier than Eponine would be if she had some shoes. Don't make me slice my foot on a loose cobblestone, write a review.**


	6. Chapter 6: Mistress

The sting of the antiseptic on her knees was nothing compared to the stinging self-hatred that was currently burning inside Eponine. _How could you have been so thoughtless and forward? _She seethed as she pressed the rag to her knees, having been left alone to tend to herself. The cuts weren't as bad as they seemed, and hopefully it was the same case with Enjolras.

If she thought optimistically, she could see herself patching things up at the next meeting. Like she had previously inferred, Enjolras was happy to have a female follower and would possibly be desperate to keep her membership; pushing her away would do just the opposite.

Eponine considered the worst case scenario; If Enjolras did in fact not want anything to do with her, surely kicking her out of the meetings, then what would she do? After a week or so of hearing not a peep from Eponine, her father would get suspicious and/or angry. Being an official _Les Amis_ was the only thing that would get her on the inside… and now she had lost it.

Eponine noticed movement near the mouth of the staircase. Her head shot up and the buoyant thought passed through her head that it was Enjolras. The small sailboat of hope was quickly sunk when she noticed that it was the barmaid from downstairs.

"Hello," she smiled. Her teeth were startlingly white for this part of town, especially for a barmaid working in a building that looked like one side could collapse at any moment. "I saw Monsieur Enjolras leaving in haste, and I just wanted to check on you. Hopefully he was not running to get a doctor. He looked quite flustered."

The pain inside Eponine's chest lessened with the feeling of another human being's unabashed concern. Eponine's face lifted into a half-smile.

"He had to run a few errands. My injuries are not dire," Eponine said to the woman, gesturing to her legs. "I cut my foot and knees today at the market when I fell. Luckily Enjolras was there and handled the situation skillfully."

"There isn't much Enjolras can't handle," the barmaid replied, her tight curls bouncing in the messy bun atop her dark head.

_Except a woman's mid-thigh, _Eponine answered silently.

"Those cuts seem to be very red," the woman mused in the time that Eponine didn't reply. She strode over. "Joly is in medical school. He won't be out until twelve. Otherwise, I'd call on him to help you… Oh, dear. I hope it doesn't need stitches…" The woman clucked her tongue, pulled out the chair that sat next to Eponine.

"May I?" the woman asked, her ivory hand hovering over Eponine's knee and her light green eyes innocent.

"Of course, mademoiselle," Eponine said quickly. She had dabbed at them with whatever was in the bottle, but Eponine's medical experience ended at cleaning the wound, if she had even done that correctly.

The woman's hand felt cool and soft on Eponine's skin as she lightly pressed her finger to the pink skin around the wound. "My name is Musichetta, by the way," the woman said, "I felt that since I'm touching your leg, you might as well know my name." She laughed, and not to Eponine's surprise, her laugh was sweet, like jingle bells on Christmas.

"I'm Eponine," the smaller of the two replied.

"Eponine," Musichetta said, testing out how the name sounded on her own tongue. Eponine thought it sounded better in her light voice than Eponine's husky contralto. "I believe I've read a book with that name in it somewhere… something having to do with mythology."

Eponine pondered this. Her mother did say that she named her and her sister, Azelma, after storybook characters; Eponine was unsure when or where her naming tale was set. It was hard to imagine herself being a goddess or a princess.

The woman with the eyes the color of malachite sat up. "There's nothing I can do here. The cuts don't appear to be too deep, but you may want Joly to check those out. He gets out of classes at twelve and will probably come to see me soon after."

"Is he courting you?" Eponine asked out of curiosity.

"Actually, I am his mistress," Musichetta replied.

Eponine recalled Joly's face: his shaggy brown hair, tall figure, long nose. He was fairly attractive. Of course, not nearly as attractive to Eponine as Marius was. Enjolras, however, fell somewhere in the middle of the two. He didn't have delicate features of Marius's aquiline nose or his high cheekbones, nor did he have Joly's long, square jaw. Enjolras harbored the features of a hardworking thinker: curls unkempt from being constantly gripped with frustrated fingers, hooded blue eyes, a jawline pronounced from always being clenched.

"Joly is a very kind man," Musichetta said, breaking into her musings, "He'll surely help you. Are you a mistress of any of the Les Amis? I feel like I've seen you in here quite a few times."

"I go to the meetings, but I am no one's mistress," Eponine replied. Instead of being a mistress, she was cared for by giving her father what he wanted: information. She realized that her answer to Musichetta's question sounded condescending. "I will admit," she added, "a few of those students _are_ handsome."

Musichetta laughed as she started to gather the supplies back into the first aid kit. "More than a few, I'd say."

At that, there was the sound of the downstairs door opening. A male voice calling "_Musichetta_!" was heard ringing from the bottom of the stairs.

"Where is my beautiful bird?" he called.

"The second floor, darling!" Musichetta called, turning away from Eponine.

_Joly must have gotten out of class early_. Eponine rose, noting with delight that her foot was hardly hurting her now, and peered at the form running up the stairs to greet Musichetta in a way that Eponine could only long to be greeted. The man's big boots bounded up from the last step, sweeping Musichetta into his arms, turning her skirts into a twirling field of lavender.

The man stopped their spinning and pressed Musichetta's mouth to his. Eponine started. This man was not Joly, for this man had dark skin the color of copper and his head was smooth and hairless. Musichetta clasped her arms around his broad neck and continued to kiss him.

Soon, Musichetta broke off the kiss and turned to Eponine. The man looked up from Musichetta's face to Eponine, as well. Eponine felt sheepish, as if she had walked in on the two instead of him walking in on her and Musichetta.

"Bossuet, this is Eponine," Musichetta said, leading him over to Eponine. The man extended his russet hand and Eponine shook it. "Eponine, this is Bossuet. He's a lover of mine."

Eponine nodded slowly. She supposed that it was possible for a woman to be the mistress of two men. Musichetta probably couldn't support a comfortable lifestyle whilst working at a tavern, so if she could get two men to take care of her, then good for her. In fact, Eponine felt slightly jealous at the woman's fortune. Eponine wouldn't mind the feeling of being loved alongside the feeling of being fed and housed. Perhaps if all failed with Enjolras, she would be able to become the mistress of one of the_ Les Amis_… Eponine sighed. Who was she kidding? She would never be able to love another man fully after she had loved Marius nearly to death. Sure, Eponine was furious at him, but the thought of him would always remain with her like scar on her heart. A disfiguring, painful, everlasting, beautiful scar.

"Eponine?" Musichetta asked, snapping Eponine out of her pensive thoughts. "Bossuet asked a question and you remained silent. Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry," Eponine said, regaining the sense of what was around her. Musichetta and Bossuet were staring at her. "I zoned out for a moment."

"Are you a friend of the ABC?" Bossuet asked, his voice gentle, like water lapping up on the edges of a tub.

"I suppose I am," Eponine said, thinking of how she now attending the meetings that the _Les Amis de l'ABC_.

Bossuet frowned. "I thought that women weren't allowed."

"Enjolras said that I could go," Eponine replied quickly. "He likes my political opinions."

Bossuet nodded. "I suppose it would be good to have another female opinion," he said, putting his arm around Musichetta's full figure, "'Chetta can't help but butt in every now and then."

"Women are quiet," Eponine found was all she could say, "but they always are full of ideas."

"And secrets," Musichetta added cheekily, planting a kiss on Bossuet's square jaw.

_Oh, yes, that too_.

"I'll be on my way," Eponine said as Bossuet leaned down to kiss Musichetta's neck.

"But, Eponine, your foot!" Musichetta cried, the exclamation ending with a giggle from Bossuet's lips nipping at her tender skin.

"It's fine," Eponine said happily, taking a large stride to the stairs to show her capabilities. She had to feeling that the couple would soon forget her if she had stuck around, their wandering hands and fervent mouths becoming more entertaining than she.

Eponine left the café and headed towards her apartment, but not without pausing for a moment to ponder where she should go. It was odd having a home when she had lived on the streets for so long; she actually had a place to go back to.

Eponine continued on her walk home, passing various people that were on their own short journeys. She was over half of the way through her return, and she turned down a less crowded, more threadbare street. Eponine turned a corner, hitting a dead end filled with a few crates through which rats were slinking.

Another rat was skulking through this alley as well, a larger one. She turned away from the dingy fence to the figure that had been following her. "What are you doing?"

Montparnasse raised his eyebrows and frowned, impressed at her vigilance.

"When did you realize I was trailing you?" he asked.

"When I passed _Le Pantheon_," Eponine replied, crossing her arms. "When did you realize that I realized?"

"When you turned down this alley," Montparnasse replied haughtily. Eponine stared at him a moment. With his type, it was hard to tell if they were lying. Criminals could always look the most innocent.

"Well, what are you doing?" Eponine asked her question again.

"Your father's asked me to keep an eye on you," Montparnasse replied. "I wanted to see if you got out of the square safely."

"I did; no thanks to you," Eponine replied stormily, indicated to the now sullied bandage that bound her foot. "When you pushed me out of your way, I cut my heel on a stone and fell in front of a carriage. I nearly took a hoof to the face."

"That's not _my_ fault," Montparnasse replied, taking a step towards her. "That comes from you not having any shoes."

"So we're back here again," Eponine said irritably.

Montparnasse rolled his eyes. "Calm down. You will have money once you get your weekly sum from Thenardier."

Eponine had nearly forgotten the weekly allowance she would be getting from her father. "Well, it can't come soon enough."

"Patience, _ma cher_," Montparnasse purred, reaching out a hand to caress her cheek. Every time he touched her, Eponine felt a pang of shame. His touch shouldn't have been for her.

Eponine slipped around him so that she was not cornered. The criminal noticed this slight as an act of rejection, not a flirty technique of hard-to-get. "No affection to show your Montparnasse?"

"Not after that stunt you pulled in the square," Eponine replied, "you will have to build yourself up from that one. 'The' Enjolras was there to save me, however."

"Uh-huh," Montparnasse replied crossly, his emerald eyes clouding over with the realization that he wasn't going to get his kicks.

Eponine started promenading back in her original direction, her hands behind her back, feeling satisfied. Their relationship was odd; only Montparnasse could leave one of their meetings feeling satisfied if they had had some sort of physical relation, while only way Eponine could feel something close to pleasure was if she had frustrated him in some way. "Tell_ père_ that I am attending their meeting on Monday."

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to arrive. Last weekend was both my birthday AND prom weekend, so you could imagine that I was busy. I have much more written in my Word document, so I will be posting that hopefully by the weekend!**

**Also, I don't know if you caught my little homage to our very own Victor Hugo's gravesite: _Le Pantheon._ Of course he wasn't there at the time of this, but his body rests there now.**

**Remember to follow and review! Reviews make me happier than... umm... Montparnasse if Eponine were his mistress.**


	7. Chapter 7: Fire on Fire

Eponine walked along the hallway littered with doors to different apartments, thankful that each door was a different color and that she didn't have to remember her room number. She passed a rainbow of colors: red, pale orange, forest green, sky blue, and finally landed at her apartment: deep purple. Eponine was about to turn the lock when a man emerged from the pale yellow door across the hall from hers.

Eponine recognized the sandy blonde mane and lanky figure that exited the tenement.

"Excuse me, sir," Eponine said, turning her back on her door.

Combeferre turned, slightly startled by whomever had addressed him. His elevated gaze looked around, then shifted down the small brunette. "Yes, mademoiselle?"

"I believe I know you," Eponine said sweetly, not to alarm the man. "You're a friend of Enjolras. I've seen you at the," she looked around for eavesdroppers," meetings."

Combeferre chuckled. "Yes, I'm a student at the same University as he. Combeferre, mademoiselle, nice to meet your acquaintance."

"I'm Eponine," she smiled.

"We appear to be neighbors," Combeferre said, glancing at the violet door.

"Yes, I moved in yesterday morning," Eponine told him. "It's nice to know that I have a familiar face next door."

"How long have you known Enjolras?" Combeferre asked, pleased to know that Enjolras was now loitering with the lower classes of Paris.

"Not long," Eponine answered, "the only real time we've spent together was spent bandaging up my foot this morning."

Combeferre's brown eyes widened with surprise. "Is it alright?"

"I think so. Enjolras wanted to get Joly since he's a medical student, but he's in classes."

"I'm a medical student, as well!" Combeferre answered proudly. "I can take an extra look at that if you want me to."

"You don't appear to need any stitches," Combeferre said once Eponine's bandage was removed and he had inspected the cut. The duo was now sitting on Eponine's couch in her apartment.

"Thank you, monsieur," Eponine said as Combeferre held her foot in one hand and began rebinding it with the other. "You are so nimble and relaxed about this. Monsieur Enjolras said that we crossed some boundary after he helped me."

"Enjolras is like that," Combeferre replied, not looking up from his work.

"A prude?"

"Not exactly," Combeferre said. "He's just… reserved. And he doesn't talk to women very often, so, although he would never admit it, he was probably a bit nervous when touching the leg of a woman."

"Everything would have been better if he had just said that," Eponine answered. She had thought that the two had made progress in their relationship after the trip to the café and the bandaging, but his departure upon seeing her thighs had proved the man not ready for such a step.

"Enjolras will never say his feelings, unless they are about revolution. You'd have to take things rather slow if you want a good relationship with him. I've known him for almost five years and he still remains closed to me."

Eponine nodded, taking note of this in case her relationship with Enjolras was not already ruined. Enjolras was a box tightly shut and did want to be pried into. Eponine, like him, often kept her feelings inside herself, not exactly by choice; she had seen what had happened when she attempted to tell Marius her true feelings. Did Enjolras have an unpleasant experience like her?

"I wonder what made him like that…" Eponine wondered aloud.

"What?" Combeferre asked, looking up at her from the new bandages.

"Oh, nothing," Eponine said. A box couldn't seal itself; someone always had to be there to assist with its closing. Once the Thenardiers had moved to Paris after their inn closed down, Eponine's father's harsh and bitter turn had slammed the lid closed on her outspoken thoughts.

"Well," Combeferre said, patting her foot and standing, "I think I need to get going. Bossuet told me that he was going to 'make it big' down at the greyhound races today and I'm hoping to manage to stop him before he loses all his money."

"I saw him at the _Café Musain_ if that helps," Eponine said, leaving the part of Musichetta out in case it was not known that the woman had to lovers and the possibility that Combeferre, a classmate of Joly's, would tell his friend.

Combeferre hopped up from the couch and made his way to the door. "Thank you!" he said, he then opened the plum door while muttering something along the lines of "unluckiest man in the world." Combeferre left, but then popped his head back into view a moment later, the rest of his body concealed behind the wall. "And for your foot- I would just recommend taking it easy for the rest of the weekend."

"Yes, doctor," Eponine replied.

"I hope see you at the meeting on Monday!" Combeferre said.

_She'll be there_, Combeferre thought as he went on his merry way. He didn't even comment on the fact that Enjolras had previously forbidden women from attending the meetings. He was proud that the man was being less exclusive, for Combeferre had always valued the ideas of women. What made their minds so different from his and Enjolras's?

Inside her apartment, Eponine walked over to her window, thankful the movement was not painful; she did not know what she would do if her injuries prescribed her to a crutch. She peered through the clear glass to see Combeferre striding down the sidewalk, haste in his step. She watched until he disappeared from sight around the corner of a stone building. With a pang in her chest, Eponine recognized that building. She had been there many a time to visit Marius. From her birds-eye view, she could also see, with amusement, her father in his police uniform, patrolling the streets with a haughty composure.

Her mind wandered back to Enjolras, who walked with a similar composure: purposeful, intimidating, confident. The only difference between the two was the walks had opposite reasons behind them. Her father's jaunt was born out of feelings of arrogance and safety found in the law. The force that put the spring in Enjolras's step was the revolution. It was everything to him, and the thought of him bringing France to a brighter future gave him a profound purpose. The only question was, how would his distant and intimidating personality provide room in his vision to see Eponine as a person of value? Eponine could only guess at this point.

She watched as her father stopped at the street corner opposite of her apartment, his hands behind his back, surveying the street.

_Be patient, _Eponine thought. _All good things come to those who wait._

* * *

Monday's _Les Amis_ meeting couldn't arrive soon enough.

Eponine decided that, after her severe blunder, she would have to move at a snaillike place to gain this inexperienced man's feelings and trust. Eponine sat at a table in the upstairs room of _Café Musain_, which she learned Musichetta generously reserved for the_ Les Amis_. There was much happening around her, the meeting having not officially convened, but her eyes remained on Enjolras. She stared at him, her hands writhing in her lap. She ignored the small talk and debates that buzzed in her ears and had a silent debate with herself in her head.

_Should I talk to him before or after? Should I go now? He looks busy. He will surely be busy after the meeting also. Should I do it when we are alone or will he be more comfortable with people around? _

She was tired of worrying about the matter. She was going to talk to him now.

Eponine timidly approached Enjolras as he stood, arms crossed, conversing with Joly.

"Most of the poor are unemployed," Joly said, "they have to result to thieving to get by."

"Born to a world of closed doors, they are," Eponine piped up. The two men turned to the _grisette_ who had spoken, and she noticed that Enjolras shrunk back slightly while doing so. "They steal, and many hope to get caught."

"They _want_ to get put in jail?" Joly asked, incredulous.

"Depending on which one you end up in, you can usually be fed regularly," Eponine replied. "At least one meal a day and a roof over your head doesn't seem too bad when you live on the streets." She spoke from experience.

She expected Enjolras to reply, but he fell into a lapse of silence.

"But the disease!" Joly cried, his eyes wide. "Prisons are horribly unsanitary."

"No commodes, nothing," Joly gasped and Eponine went on, "when I was in jail, my cellmates and I reserved a corner of the room for it. We didn't get a bucket. At night-"

Joly gagged. "Please don't go on. I'll vomit."

Eponine smirked. "If you could, I would like a moment alone to speak to Enjolras."

Joly nodded and walked away, a dumbstruck air to him. "_A pile of their own filth_," she heard him mutter.

Enjolras and Eponine watched as Joly went out of earshot, then turned to each other in unison.

"I was unaware you'd been to prison," Enjolras said. There was something in his tone, but Eponine couldn't put her finger on it. "Do I want to hear what for?"

"A failed robbery," Eponine lied, "I was nearby and the coppers labeled me as the culprit. I wasn't in for long. I got released on account for lack of evidence." The real story was that she had been keeping watch for _Patron_-_Minette_, but Montparnasse had distracted her, causing the police to stumble upon them. The gang members had hid, pushing Eponine out into the light to take the fall. She'd spent three days in prison before they finally released her. Once she got out, she had an almost melancholy feeling; being in a room full of women was the closest she had been in her teenage years to feeling safe. Sometimes Eponine wondered if Montparnasse had distracted her, failing the plan, for a reason.

"But that's not important," Eponine went on, "I just wanted to apologize for what happened on Saturday. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable back there. I did not think that the notion would be seen as salacious." Another lie. "You see, I was never educated on the values of good manners." The excuse was flimsy, but Enjolras seemed to take it. Perhaps he _was_ just eager to have a woman on his side.

"I understand," Enjolras said.

"The poor just live by a different book…" Eponine mumbled. Enjolras understood; he had grown up an only child with bourgeoisie parents to ensure that he lived comfortably. He even still lived comfortably in a flat that they bought for him when he started attending University.

"Let's just forget about the matter," Enjolras said, waving a hand as if physically pushing the memory away. "All I ask is that you invest in a pair of shoes, mademoiselle."

"Eponine," she corrected. "Let's not forget _everything_. We're equal, remember?"

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but it was drowned out by a call of "'Ponine!"

Eponine turned, her eyes widening as if she were seeing a ghost. "Marius," she breathed. Enjolras glanced around, bewildered, and saw the auburn haired boy striding towards her.

This was the first time Eponine had seen him since she had started working as a spy. This was the face of the man that had hurt her so badly she had regressed to the sleazy, cutthroat work with her father. This was the man that made her realize that she was always, no matter how long she abstained from evil and starved because of it, she was a Thernadier: raised to lie and steal from birth.

There he was: walking up to Eponine, a toothy, expectant grin on his face.

She felt her stomach flutter in a combination of delight and nervousness. He was just so relaxed and, well, gorgeous. Her mind was at war with her heart: should she hate him, or should she embrace him? Eponine quickly stopped the positive thoughts and put on a hard mask of indifference towards him. He had caused her pain, and she would not let herself into the trap again.

"I haven't seen you in nearly a week!" Marius said as he reached her vicinity, grasping her shoulders. "You might as well have dropped off the face of the Earth!"

It took Eponine a moment to find her words; the sight of his freckled face in front of her was disorienting. "I've been around," she replied monotonously, settling with the manner she had decided on.

"I've just been so busy with Cosette," Marius said. "I go to see her at night. She's never even seen me in the day besides when we first met. That's why I missed the meeting on Friday."

"You didn't miss much," Eponine replied.

"You went to the meeting?" Marius said, his eyebrows rising with disbelief. "But I wasn't there—"

"You think I go because of you?" Eponine retorted, anger suddenly flaring in her chest like a fire touching oil.

"What reason would you have to go to revolutionary meetings where you know no one?" Marius replied, quieter than Eponine's outburst.

"Maybe I don't want to be poor anymore…" Eponine replied. "Enjolras has been informing me of his efforts to change the corrupt system of Paris." Eponine turned to where she thought the marble leader would be standing, but she found that he had vanished.

"Eponine," Combeferre said, sweeping into the conversation, unknowingly rescuing her from Marius. "Let me introduce you to the boys."

Eponine was welcomed to the_ Les Amis_ by Combeferre, who put an arm around her boney shoulders in a fatherly way. He introduced her to all of the _Les_ _Amis_, giving her the names of the few she didn't know and reassuring her on the names she did.

He took her over to where Enjolras had disappeared off to, where he now stood with Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Grantaire. Grantaire was leaning against a table, which was undoubtedly the only thing keeping him up.

"Sometimes I wonder why we don't consider ourselves philanthropists. We try to help the poor so much when they do absolutely nothing for us…" Bossuet mused, staring into his ale.

"Maybe because they can't?" Courfeyrac said incredulously.

"I dunno," Grantaire slurred, "their lovely ladies sure do a lot for me."

Courfeyrac and Bossuet laughed while Combeferre glanced over at Enjolras. Enjolras exhaled through his nose, as if letting out steam, and rolled his eyes.

"Now, someone tell me why a woman is here," Grantaire said, holding out a lazy hand to Eponine. "I thought we put up a 'no girls allowed' sign or something."

"Enjolras said I could come," Eponine replied before Enjolras could answer.

"Oh, I see," Grantaire said slowly. "He wants you to come."

Eponine raised her eyebrows while Enjolras sharply looked at the floor.

"Grantaire!" Combeferre said sharply. "Not in the presence of a lady."

"My question is why are _you_ here, Grantaire, if you obviously do not support our cause at all?" Enjolras asked, his face tinged red with either embarrassment or anger.

"For the drink," Grantaire said, raising his near empty wine bottle, "and the women. You know," he added leaning towards Eponine so that she could smell the alcohol on his breath, "ladies love a rebel." Grantaire wagged his eyebrows at Eponine.

"Not this lady," Eponine replied, inciting laughter from all the surrounding _Les Amis_. Even Enjolras smiled at this. Grantaire was laughing, too, although it appeared he did not know why.

* * *

The meeting was going pleasantly, even Grantaire, whom Eponine had never seen show interest in the topic of discussion, seemed to be listening to Enjolras tonight. It wasn't until Enjolras said something that rubbed Eponine the wrong way.

"I'm sorry," Eponine said, interrupting Enjolras's eloquent words with her own and incited a dozen or so heads to swivel in her direction. "But did you just say 'as soon as I go to the slums of _Saint_ _Michel_ and speak to them?'"

An annoyed crease formed between Enjolras's eyebrows. "Yes?"

Eponine let out a short, humorless laugh from her seat in the middle of the room. "By yourself?"

"Yes, I'm not a child," Enjolras replied shortly, "I can go to a bad part of the city by myself."

"I don't think you realize what would happen if a bourgeoisie like yourself set foot on a street crowded by beggars. You would be attacked, robbed—killed, even."

"I'm sorry," Enjolras said, trying to keep the anger out of his sarcastic tone, "I was unaware that the poor attacked those who are trying to help them."

"You've obviously never walked alone amongst the beggars," Eponine replied hotly, "you might as well walk through a dog pound carrying raw meat. They will sniff you out as wealthy and you _will_ be attacked."

"I don't think you have enough faith in your own class."

Eponine should have taken this as a slight to her stature, but she knew that she had been amongst the beggars that crowded around the upper class carriages, pleading for food or money more than once; instead she was offended by this man's overconfident ignorance on a topic of which she clearly knew more about.

"Excuse me," she said, "I don't think you even know what you're talking about! I've lived among them for almost my entire life, and you are a bourgeoisie that has never felt anything close to them! Have you ever been hungry?"

"Of course," Enjolras replied arrogantly, causing a few of his cronies to chuckle.

"Not just ready for dinner," Eponine said roughly, "I mean truly, truly hungry. Starving. So hungry that you almost double over in pain. So hungry that you feel like you are about to throw up despite your stomach being empty. Your body is about to shut down. Your hands shake. Your legs feel weak. At that point, even parchment seems like a good meal."

Eponine took a breath. "I can bet that _you_ have never felt that, Enjolras."

"I don't think you understand what I'm saying," Enjolras said, holding up a finger for her to be silent. "I know that the poor don't have the advantages I have, and I want to provide them with the ideas of a brighter future."

"The problem is that you don't know _a thing_ about the poor," Eponine retorted, rising to her feet, her blood pressure rising along with her. "They don't give a damn about the corrupt government. They don't give a damn about political equality, or democracy, or a revolution."

Enjolras's jaw dropped as soon as she said that. The poor needed a revolution more than anything. How could no one care about a possible insurrection? "Surely—" he attempted to say, only to be interrupted.

"They want _food_," Eponine continued, raising her voice over Enjolras's rebuttal. "It's all they care about in life because they can't get it. They won't listen to a word you preach until you provide for at least one of their needs."

Eponine stopped her rant, and upon seeing the students' faces, immediately regretted letting her sharp tongue get the best of her. Marius's eyes were bulging out of his skull; Courfeyrac's eyebrows had nearly ascended to his hairline; Combeferre's mouth was clamped into a straight line, his lips white; Joly's jaw looked like it was about to fall off; Grantaire looked like a child on Christmas. The cynic's gleeful face looked between the two opponents, waiting to see who would speak next.

"I know you want to help them," Eponine said in a gentler and lower tone, "but you cannot expect them to trust and listen to someone who has given them nothing."

"So you're saying that I should bring a loaf of bread with me?"

"I suppose that would help, but I strongly discourage you from going there. Far too dangerous."

"It offends me that you think I wouldn't be able to defend myself," Enjolras replied. "If you can walk amongst them, surely so can I."

"I'd like to see you try," Eponine snorted, flicking her bangs out of her eyes.

Their eyes met in a combination of fury and passion. Fire on fire. Both so devoted to their point that they thought they could never be proven wrong. Both so stubborn that they would never accept defeat. Their causes were one in the same, but their approaches were polar opposites.

Enjolras's cerulean eyes narrowed at the girl. His voice emitted a low growl that caused just as much impact as a shout. "_Everyone. Get . Out_."

**A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter! I'm sooo happy they caught the Boston bomber, by the way. I was glued to my TV all day!**

**I hope you guys like the way I'm portraying Enjolras. I'm characterizing him as kind of arrogant, thinking he's always right. **

**Please review. Reviews make me happier than Grantaire with a full bottle of wine.**


	8. Chapter 8: At Odds

The fellow_ Les Amis_ heeded to their chief's request, quickly and quietly scooping up their things. Eponine pushed in her chair and started to follow Combeferre to the stairway.

"You," Enjolras said, pointing to her turned back, "stay."

Eponine, her breath hitching, straightened and slowly turned to face him. He was still standing at the front of the room, shoulders set, face hard. Grantaire threw back his head and laughed as he stumbled by, giving Eponine a hard pat on the back. Marius followed, holding out his hands to steady the man besot with wine, giving Eponine a grim smile and a murmur of "good luck."

Enjolras's icy glare trailed off Eponine for a moment to watch the remainder of the students file out of the room. Then, as rigid as a board, his gaze snapped back to her.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "So," he said, his voice frighteningly calm, "you don't think I could last among the beggars."

"No, mon—Enjolras," Eponine replied. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she settled with crossing one arm in front of her to hold the other elbow. "I do not think you know enough to."

"Actually, I—"

"If you knew half as much as you thought you did, you would know twice as much as you do," Eponine said.

It took Enjolras a second to make sense of her statement. "I'm a student at a prestigious university. I think I know a thing or two about the social system of Paris."

"I may not have books or a degree," Eponine said, "but I know some things, too. And I'm telling you that you know nothing about the poor."

"I know nothing about the poor, yet I cannot go see them because, according to you, I wouldn't last a moment there without getting mugged," Enjolras replied.

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose you're correct," Enjolras said decidedly. Eponine smirked. "When do you want to take me?"

Eponine was taken aback. "What?"

"You walk the streets all the time," Enjolras reasoned, an annoying look of smugness on his façade, "you could show me around _Saint-Michel_. That way, I can feed and speak with the beggars and you can make sure I don't get mugged. Everyone wins."

Eponine was unsure what to say. The idea of watching his back all day sounded bothersome, but it fit in perfectly with her plan. He would thus use her as his gateway to Paris's underworld, and she could use him as her gateway to information. "I'll do it."

"When are you free next?"

"Tomorrow."

"I have class until about eleven in the morning," Enjolras said. "How about we meet here at twelve?"

"Alright."

"Then I suppose I will see you then," Enjolras said. It seemed fitting that he would smile at her, but he didn't.

"_Bonne nuit_," Eponine said after a short silence.

She turned to leave.

"And, Eponine," Enjolras called. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, eyeing him over the thick curtain of her hair. "Please promise to wear some shoes next time."

"As long as you promise not to embarrass me," Eponine replied.

"I promise," Enjolras said, putting a hand over his heart. "Do you?"

Eponine looked up for a moment, pondering this. "I'll see what I can do," she quipped, looking back at him cheekily.

Enjolras cocked his head sternly at her while she imitated him.

"Goodbye!" she sang, turning on her heel and prancing away, hands behind her back.

Enjolras watched the girl until her bare feet padded down the stairs. He turned back to his law books that were stacked in a precarious tower on the table.

_I don't think I've ever met someone so irritating,_ the two thought in unison as they walked home in the dying sunlight. _Tomorrow will surely prove to be an interesting day._

* * *

Eponine listened as the bells of_ Notre Dame_ resonated twelve times, marking Enjolras as late. Eponine stared down at her oversized boot as it tapped impatiently on the floor. Her mind wandered back to its origin.

_Eponine opened the plum door of her apartment, slightly wincing as the hinges let out a high pitched screech._

_"Eponine!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, causing her to flinch again. "Tell us what Enjolras said!"_

_Eponine glanced over at the yellow door. Courfeyrac was poking his head out of the opening, and she could see Combeferre and Grantaire trying to peer at her around his messy curls._

_Soon Eponine was ushered into the ornately furnished apartment and set onto the couch of Combeferre's living room, a drink thrust into her hand._

_"So…?" Grantaire crooned. "Tell us what he said."_

_"No one's ever stood up to Enjolras like that," Courfeyrac gushed as if he were meeting a childhood role model. _

_"I was just voicing my opinion," Eponine told him._

_"Something that no one's ever done," Combeferre raved, "not in a meeting."_

_"Get on with it, now!" Courfeyrac whined. "Tell us what he said once we left!"_

_"Well…" Eponine said as she searched for the right words, not wanting to let Courfeyrac's hopeful face down. What was he expecting, a screaming match? Sword fight? "He asked me… on a… date."_

_All three jaws dropped in front of her._

_"What?" Courfeyrac managed._

_"No, he said—Enjolras would never—" Combeferre stuttered._

_"Bloody hypocrite!" Grantaire laughed._

_"No, not like that," Eponine said over the boys' ramblings. "He wants _me_ to take him down to _Saint-Michel_."_

_Grantaire let out a hiss of air. "That man."_

_"He does _everything_ for revolution," Courfeyrac moaned._

_"I'm pretty sure he _shits_ for revolution," Grantaire added._

_Eponine sat back and listened; she had never heard this side of the_ Les Amis_. She had assumed that they all were as nearly devoted to this so-called _Patria_ as Enjolras was. Well, except Grantaire—he was his own case. Other than that, Eponine had thought the other boys as devoutly libertarian as he._

_"So you guys aren't as dedicated as Enjolras?" Eponine clarified._

_"No!" Courfeyrac attested. "I love the idea of a democratic France just as much as the next guy, but I'm _not_, I repeat,_ not_ swearing off women!"_

_"So Enjolras has never…" Eponine trailed off, hoping the boys would get her point._

_"No!" Grantaire answered, erupting into laughter. "Never. Not in a million years would he do that."_

_"I don't think Enjolras has even kissed a woman," Combeferre said._

Well that would explain why he got so nervous when I hiked my skirt up, _Eponine thought. _

_"That must be a lonely life to lead," Eponine murmured. _

_She had a slice of what that was like, but with Montparnasse around, she always had someone to kiss, and do possibly more with. She thought back to when she turned fourteen. Her father had offered for her to leave the thieving business and become a prostitute. She, of course, refused. She would never sell her body for money. Montparnasse was the only man she'd ever been with, and that she did that out of fear of what would happen if she didn't. _

Isn't that what you're doing now? _The voice in her head drawled. _Selling your body for your own advantage?

_She shook the thought away. _No, this is different. _She entered back into the conversation._

_"He's gonna end up like an old spinster if he keeps acting like this," Grantaire said, taking a swig from the bottle in hand._

_"I just wish Enjolras wouldn't devote his whole life to this revolution," Courfeyrac said, lowering his voice as if the marble man could actually hear him. "It would be nice to see him find happiness in something else for a change."_

_"Sorry to interrupt your gossiping session, but do any of you have shoes I can borrow?" Eponine asked. "Enjolras said I have to wear shoes."_

_"Well after what happened to your foot, it's a wonder you haven't bought any," Combeferre said, walking out of the room. "I'll see what I can find."_

_"Foot?" Grantaire mumbled, craning his neck to see her bandaged foot beneath her skirts and almost tipping his bottle completely on its side._

_"I fell," Eponine said, quickly pushing the nose of the wine bottle up so that the intoxicated man wouldn't spill it on the carpet. "I'm tired of talking about it."_

_Combeferre emerged from what Eponine assumed was his bedroom with a pair of boots in hand. "They're old and worn, but I guess they'll work," he mused, setting them down. The tattered black shoes seemed out of place on the nicely made coffee table. "They're from a few years ago."_

_Eponine picked up one of the boots. It was at least two sizes too big, and there was a hole on the side worn out from frequent use._

_"They'll do the job," Eponine said. "I can have them back by tomorrow."_

_Combeferre held up a hand. "Consider them yours," he said, shaking his head. _

_"You won't want them back?" Eponine asked._

_"Why would I wear shoes like those when I have shoes like these?" Combeferre replied, gesturing to his polished Oxford shoes._

_"I suppose you're right…" Eponine said, perusing the boot in her hand. How long had it been since she'd had a pair of shoes? Her father had stopped buying them for her once she hit her first growth spurt; he had said it wasn't worth the money if she kept growing out of them._

_"Enjolras would be proud, seeing me aid a fellow citizen like this," Combeferre chuckled, putting his hands on his hips._

_"Why don't you ever give me any shoes?" Grantaire asked._

Eponine turned her foot to the side to look at the worn footwear. Walking there hadn't proved to be much less of a feat with them on; in fact, she had accidentally stepped in a puddle and could still feel the moistness in the shoe now. She also found that they had gotten in her way quite often… Still, they were a gift from Combeferre and she would use them.

The sound of the door opening alerted Eponine to Enjolras strolling into the café. In his arms were several baguettes wrapped in brown paper.

"Took you long enough."

"I had to go by the bakery on the way here," Enjolras said shortly.

Eponine stood and walked to his aid, taking two baguettes from his arms. She took a bite out of the one in the crook of her left arm.

"Hey!" Enjolras protested, "I thought those were for the hungry."

"'oo says I'm not 'ungry?" Eponine retorted through a full mouth.

Enjolras grimaced at her lack of manners. He looked away from her savage way of eating and to the floor. "I see you got some shoes..."

Eponine took another bite of the bread and looked down at her scuffed up, oversized boots. "Yep, Combeferre's old ones."

_Not exactly what I had in mind..._ Enjolras thought as he observed their holes and scratches.

"Well, I thought that we could work our way down _Saint-Michel _until we get to_ Hospice des Enfants-Assistés,_" he told her.

"I'll take you wherever," Eponine said, swallowing the bread. "But I'm not letting you wear that."

Enjolras looked down at his lavish, upper class, dress: a burgundy _redingote_, for the springtime breeze, a top hat, and black trousers tucked into black boots. "What's wrong with my outfit?"

"Too fancy," Eponine said. "We don't want to get robbed, remember?"

Enjolras groaned and rolled his eyes. "Okay, what do I need to take off?"

"Take off the _redingote_, for sure," Eponine said, glaring at the burgundy coat as if it were a snake.

Enjolras sighed and undid the brass buttons, shrugging off the jacket and setting it on the table. He looked up at Eponine.

"The hat has to go."

He should have guessed the top hat. He set that down next to the coat. "Anything else?"

"Loosen the cravat or something," Eponine said, smiling slightly at her new authority, "you don't want to look like someone's gift of a new puppy on Christmas."

Enjolras shot her a blue glare and settled for pulling off the neck bow entirely. "I do not look like a Christmas present," he muttered as he pulled one end, letting the intricate tie fall back into a plain strip of cloth.

Now Enjolras presented himself to Eponine, stripped down to his navy blue waist coat and trousers. His neck felt bare without the cravat tied around it.

"Better," Eponine smirked. Despite her newfound feeling of superiority, she was worried about how the bourgeoisie would act in the slums; if he couldn't even dress like down to Earth human being, what else would he do wrong?

"Let's go," she said, trying to keep the reluctance out of her voice.

_I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea, _the pair both griped silently.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! I was going to put their outing to the slums in this chapter, but I decided that that would make it far too long. **

**I've found a lovely map on tumblr that marks where all the important places of Les Miserables set place, and it's helped me greatly! **

**Remember to review. Reviews make me happier than... I don't know. But they make me happy.**


	9. Chapter 9: Memories and Failed Curtsies

**Oh, I decided to change the rating to M to give myself flexibility. I hope that's alright with you all. That way, I can make the street talk sound mangier and... you know... maybe some sexy time.**

**Queue the music for "This is My Idea" from the Swan Princess haha :)**

"Stay close to me," Eponine said for what felt like the thousandth time since she started escorting Enjolras through the Parisian streets.

Enjolras turned and stopped, waiting for Eponine, who purposefully didn't quicken her pace to catch up to him. It was amazing how about three of Eponine's strides were only one of his. She could have moved into a slight jog beside him, but Eponine had decided that it was a nice day to take it slow and have the man constantly stopping and looking around for her.

He seemed so eager now, delighted by the idea of helping the poor and building followers. Of course, the idea of something and the actual act of it were two completely different things.

Eponine could bet five francs, which she didn't have, that Enjolras would be repulsed by the beggars at _Saint Michel_. Sure, he was acting philanthropic now, but when he came face to face with a sore-covered old woman, his generous façade would melt away into disgust.

That's how all the bourgeoisie were.

Eponine knew that from experience. The unpleasant memory of being kicked away by a gentleman after asking for a _sou_ reemerged into her mind. Dark memories always did that; they waited under the surface for an opportunity to rear up and seize one by the ankle. She held her collarbone, feeling the phantom blow of the man's boot.

"Eponine?" she looked up to see Enjolras, once again, stopped a few yards ahead of her. He raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You weren't responding," he replied.

"Oh, what did you say?"

"I was saying that I thought we could start with that group of people right there," Enjolras said, pointing to a group of a dozen beggars that were crouched and lying on the street corner like a pigeons.

Eponine recognized a few of them including a girl a few years younger than her, but Eponine couldn't bring herself to remember her name. Her father would be ashamed at her lack of recall. She looked further down the street to see if others were nearby, and found that, like Hansel and Gretel's bread crumbs, a few familiar faces hid among the beggars that were littered down the boulevard.

Eponine's eye caught a flash of brown hair and the wisp of a heart-shaped face marked by a celestial nose from further down the street. Her breath hitched in her throat as if an invisible hand had come down and closed it shut. Was it-? No, it couldn't be.

Her attention was ripped back to her original job, watching Enjolras, as she heard a strangled cry of "Please!" Eponine saw, with astonishment, that the beggars had begun crowding around the bread giver, one woman being pushed to the ground by a man that was growling about how he was hungrier than she.

Eponine jumped into action, stuffing the two baguettes into her left arm and running towards Enjolras, who was backing away from the haggard old man. She could see Enjolras's indecisiveness between forcing the vagabond away or giving him the food he strove for. Eponine slowed down as she reached him, slightly tripping over one of her shoes.

As she approached she could hear Enjolras's unwavering tone. "You don't get any bread until you help her back up."

The old man reached out a hand towards Enjolras—Eponine wasn't sure whether it was to hit the leader or to take the bread—and begged again for a bite.

Eponine slipped between the taker and the giver. "Step back," she said deep in her throat. She knew how to handle herself on the streets; it was sheer force or nothing.

"I need food. I'll die soon," the man croaked.

"And you'll die a lot quicker if you come any closer," she responded instantly, holding her ground as a barrier between him and his food.

"Eponine," she heard Enjolras implore from behind her. She held up a hand to silence him. Enjolras submitted, awed at how a girl of barely five feet could seem so strong and intimidating.

"Step back with the others," Eponine repeated to the skinny man, enunciating every syllable.

The vagabond, taken aback for a moment, took two steps backwards, falling into line with the other entranced beggars and scratching the scraggly beard that coated his face and neck.

Eponine spared Enjolras a glance, and he just looked at her.

"Here's your audience, it's your show," Eponine said, holding a hand out to the poor and stepping aside. Enjolras continued to stare at her; she wasn't sure whether it was shocked admiration for her courage or an unpleasant realization of the girl she truly was. Nevertheless, he obeyed her.

"Form into an orderly line," he said, raising his voice to the crowd. "Each of you will be given bread when you reach the front of the line."

That seemed like a good idea, and luckily, Eponine did not have to persuade any of the other beggars to do so. Eponine stepped beside Enjolras, giving away pieces of her two bread loaves in some form of unceremonious communion.

Eponine ripped a piece of from the baguette, now cold, and handed it to the young girl.

"Stay safe, Sophie," Eponine said kindly, the girl's name suddenly popping into her mind.

Sophie smiled a gap-toothed grin as she glanced down at the bread. "Glad to see you're doing better, 'Ponine. Nice shoes."

With that, she had moved and Eponine was now ripping off a piece for another starving person.

"You know her?" Enjolras murmured.

"I wasn't always as well-off as I am now," Eponine muttered. _And I'm still not_. She needed her father's payment.

"Times will improve," Enjolras said as he handed a piece of bread to an old woman. Eponine wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the woman.

"Thank you for handling that situation back there," Enjolras added after a short silence.

"It's fine," Eponine replied, "just please don't fucking get too far away again. We're lucky he was complacent, cuz sure as hell he could have done worse."

Eponine noticed Enjolras's eyebrows rise at her foul language. It'd been a while since she degraded her language that much, but now it had just slipped out. She guessed being around the poor brought out her own lowly side.

Enjolras and Eponine continued distributing the bread in silence. The pieces of bread shrunk from handfuls to small bites as time wore on and the long line came to an end. They barely had enough bread for the last person, a little boy, in the swollen crowd that had grown to well over a dozen beggars.

Eponine glanced over at Enjolras. "I'm all out."

Enjolras showed her his empty hands.

"I guess it's time to go home, then," she said, turning around.

"Wait, Eponine," Enjolras said hastily, "I have to talk to them about the _Les Amis_."

Eponine sighed and gestured for him to go on. She crossed her arms, watching as Enjolras walked up to three of the beggars whose stomachs were at least partially filled with his gift of bread.

She watched him make his way down the line, kneeling in front of each vagabond. Eponine trailed him, inclining her head to hear the words he was saying to each one.

"Do not worry. The social injustice in this city will be healed."

"The people will rise above the line of poverty."

"_Patria_ will be a place comfort once again once the monarchy is overthrown."

The vagrants seemed to be fully listening, but half understanding. Eponine was unsure if Enjolras had noticed or if he was just swept up in a reverie over the vision of a free France again. Enjolras continued down the line, stopping at a woman holding a baby. Her hair was stringy and dull, hanging in strips over her face. Pockmarks lined her cheeks instead of freckles.

Enjolras bent down to her level, his bright blue eyes level with her dull gray ones.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "your child will grow up in a free France, no longer repressed by the monarchy now. I can assure you."

The woman's tired eyes met his. "Will my child get food?"

"In a democratic France, everyone will get food," Enjolras replied, raising his voice to the others around him. Enjolras continued down the line, leaving each person with at least a small glow of either hope or stupefaction in their eyes.

Eponine approached the woman with the baby.

"How old is he?" she asked.

"Almost a year," she replied, "I had him in the warm time."

Eponine nodded. "I will try to bring softer foods next time," she replied. _Next time?_ Did she really just say that she was going to bring Enjolras down here again?

"Are you with him?" she asked, leaning her head towards Enjolras a few persons down.

Eponine looked at him for a moment. "Sort of," she settled on for a reply.

The baby in the woman's arms started crying, its face scrunching up to look like lines of a crumpled bed sheet.

"Oh, Rémi," the woman moaned, "why don't you ever stop?"

The mewling of the baby reminded Eponine of her family's inn in Montfermeil. She remembered being only eight years old and seeing a sobbing baby in her mother's arms. It had been a little boy. At this time, Eponine was still in expensive and fashionable clothes, and her parents were still caring. Her mother had still had the patience to comfort a wailing child; Eponine could only guess the child's ill fate had it been crying in the arms of Madame Thenardier ten years later. Eponine's mother, with patience, had been able to quell the child. Madame Thenardier had been a good mother to the child, as Eponine observed. She hardly knew where he was now… Eponine couldn't even remember the name of the baby. Once they reached Paris, their family split apart: Azelma ending up in jail, her younger brothers running way, her eventually leaving the family, only to return to agree to spy.

"I might be able to help," Eponine replied. She held out her arms and the woman smiled and bestowed the baby into Eponine's arms.

Eponine looked down at the baby's contorted, sobbing face, wincing as he let out a loud wail. Eponine let out a soft hush and began to slowly rock the child.

"Shh, don't cry," Eponine hummed, only half-knowing what she was doing.

The baby's mouth was shiny with slobber as he continued to curl his bottom lip and whimper. She faintly remembered a trick her mother did to her own wailing infant. Eponine gentle brushed her forefinger against the baby's lip, letting it latch on and begin suckling on her finger.

The baby was preoccupied with its new toy, and he seemed to forget his crying. He let out a small gurgle and continued to suck on the tip of her finger. Eponine continued the rhythmic bouncing of her arms, finding that it was fairly relaxing to her, as well.

She heard the crunch of boots and turned to see Enjolras's bold figure, looming upon her and the infant. She glanced up at him to see his sculpted face, stone as always. He didn't even appear to noticed her pacifying effects on the child.

It took her a moment to realize that he was waiting for her to move on, obeying what she had snapped at him when they were handing out bread.

Eponine nodded at him and bent down, giving the woman back her child.

"Thank you," the woman said gratefully, smiling at her baby's calmed form.

"Just do that next time he cries and it should help," Eponine advised before walking away with Enjolras.

"Since when did you become a nanny?" Enjolras asked.

"I just observed what my mother did to my younger brother," Eponine answered, continuing to stare down the street as they walked.

"I didn't know you had a younger brother," Enjolras said.

"I don't," Eponine replied sharply, her voice like a new razor blade. "Not anymore."

With that bitter answer, Enjolras had decided that it was best not to press anymore. He knew that the road to poverty was not paved smoothly.

Enjolras felt a tap on his shoulder and turned sharply. To his right was an old man, face wrinkling with the lines of poverty and age, his skin tanned from living outdoors.

"Monsieur," he asked, his voice rough, "do you have a sou to spare?"

Eponine was about to protest, but Enjolras shot her a silencing look and reached into his waistcoat pocket, emerging with an oriental print coin purse. He pulled a grimy coin out of it and handed it to the beggar.

"Thank you…" the old man replied, slowly shuffling away. "God bless."

"You know what that money will probably go to, right?" Eponine asked, watching the old man go about his way.

Alcoholism spread like the Plague amongst the lower class. Eponine, herself, could easily down a glass of wine, adapted to drink copious amounts of alcohol just like her father, her mother, and their poor ancestors before them.

"Yes," Enjolras replied, "but I gave him the opportunity to do the right thing, and that's worth more than the coin itself."

Eponine looked at him. _Worth more than the coin itself_, she ruminated. She supposed it was true; a given chance was worth more than a coin, but still, who spoke like that?

Despite the overly cliché pun he used, this man was surprisingly noble and devoted to his cause. Eponine hadn't expected him to dish money from his own pocket for the poor.

"May I help you?" Enjolras asked her, his voice teeming with what Eponine labeled as annoyance. Eponine realized that she'd been staring for a moment too long.

She looked away and back down their path. "No, but you might have visitors," she said, gesturing to a small group of peasants, once again, looking at Enjolras with hopeful eyes.

Eponine stepped back to observe the impending acts of charity.

"Are you still giving away bread?" one of them asked, a woman with a tattered bonnet over dark locks.

"No," Enjolras replied. Her face fell, "but I can give you change."

Once again, he dished out a few coins for each of them.

"Thank you," a young girl, probably a little older Eponine's age replied as Enjolras handed her a gold coin. She was clad in a skimpy purple dress, one sleeve slipping down to reveal a defined and pale collarbone.

"Thank the future republic," Enjolras replied.

The girl tucked a light brown strand of hair behind her ear with a fingerless-gloved hand. Her brown eyes glanced behind Enjolras and then back up at him. "Was that you saying that you make a brighter future?"

"Bright as the sun," Enjolras replied.

"I'll be careful to shield my eyes then," the girl returned sulkily. She pulled her sleeve back over her lanky shoulder and strode away, her bare feet making a soft percussion on the street.

The last of them gone, Enjolras turned back to Eponine. He was taken aback to find her standing frozen like a statue of despondency, a small crease between her full eyebrows. Eponine spared him a quick glance before settling her dark eyes on the retreating girl.

Eponine's small bow of a mouth opened and closed as if she were saying a silent prayer. Maybe she was.

Enjolras was unsure if he wanted to interrupt this personal moment.

"That was my younger sister," Eponine breathed, each word like a breeze weakly flowing through the air.

_Younger? _The girl had looked older than Eponine. Enjolras supposed that impoverished living had gotten to her looks. He glanced back to find no more sign of the brunette and her purple dress. "Do you want to try to find her again?"

"No!" Eponine gasped quickly. "She hates me. She doesn't want to talk to me."

Enjolras, an only child, did not know how to respond to this. Surely blood couldn't hate each other. He could never find himself staying mad at his father forever, no matter how rudely he rejected his son's ideas of liberty.

"She can't possibly hate you," Enjolras replied. "You couldn't have done anything that bad." He immediately regretted it; he had seen how she reacted when he accidentally dug into her personal life. This was simple bourgeoisie etiquette, but to the poor it could be considered prying.

"Oh, just a weightless issue about boys," Eponine replied distantly.

Enjolras could tell that the girl was grief-stricken by her encounter with her estranged sister. He was once again, unsure what to do. If he were in Eponine's shoes, he would want to be left alone to ponder and cope the occurrence; he was uneducated on what a woman might want. Eponine surely wouldn't want to talk about her sister; Enjolras had felt the backlash from asking her personal questions.

"Are you—" Enjolras began asking her.

"Let's just get out of here," Eponine snapped. This place was reminding her too much of home.

Eponine started walking back to the café, and this time, it was Enjolras who had to keep up. He could see, with a grim awareness, that the girl could, in fact, match his pace when walking on the street. Why she had trailed behind, he did not know.

They had reached _Café Musain_ in a considerably shorter time than it took them to reach _Saint Michel_ due to Eponine's quick stride. The walk there was silent, filled with them glancing at each other, then away, brushing hands, then pulling back, attempting to start a conversation, then trailing off.

Enjolras ran ahead of Eponine to open the door for her, and she slipped passed without even a mutter of gratuity. Her eyes remained locked in a dark gaze on the ground.

"Your coat and hat are still behind the bar, right?" Eponine asked.

Enjolras quickly walked over and retrieved them from the spot where Musichetta had stowed them at his request. "Yes."

"Good," she replied quickly. Her dark brown waves stuck to her cheeks as she glanced around the café.

_What is she looking for? _Enjolras wondered as he tugged on the _redingote _and place the top hat upon his head.

"Eponine, I must ask you something," Enjolras said out of concern.

She looked up, blinking at him as if she had nearly forgotten his existence. "Yes…?" she asked reproachfully.

Enjolras took a breath. He intended to ask the girl about her sister, but he knew that would get him nowhere and result in a sarcastic answer. "You look shaken…" he mumbled, "Do you want to have a glass of wine?"

"Here?" she asked incredulously.

"No, somewhere else," Enjolras replied. It was the only thing he could think of to ease her burden. "I know a nice café near my _garret _where you can have something to drink and wind down…"

Eponine looked at him for a moment. He felt blood creeping up on his face under her gaze. "No, monsieur," she replied, "I'm afraid I have other plans today."

Enjolras nodded slowly. "I understand."

"I must get getting back to my own apartments," Eponine said.

"Do you want me to walk you there?" Enjolras asked. He felt like it was his duty to at least do _something_ in the field of consoling her. "You shouldn't walk back alone."

Eponine was about to protest, but she decided it wasn't worth it. She nodded and Enjolras offered her his arm. For a second, she linked her arm with his, but with red hot embarrassment and unsteady fingers, she corrected herself and grasped the crook of his elbow. She glanced up his face to see if he had an inkling of disgust or sneering; it was blank, as usual. They now looked—a little—like a respectable couple and not like two children about to skip down the street.

As she directed him to her own dwellings, Eponine couldn't help but imagine that she was ruining Enjolras's image. Here he was, a fashionably clad gentleman walking with a _gamine_ in only one layer of tattered dress. She wasn't going to act like she couldn't feel the judgmental glares from passersby.

"Do look up, Eponine," Enjolras said stonily, "I don't even know how you can tell where you are going."

"People are staring," she said quietly, her gaze remaining on the cobblestones in front of them.

"Let them stare," Enjolras replied.

To his partial surprise, Eponine actually looked up.

"This shouldn't matter anyway," Enjolras added. In his new France, it wouldn't.

Eponine found a smile tugging at her lips at his kind words. That day, Enjolras had really proved himself not to be nearly as arrogant or pretentious as she had assumed; he was politely walking her home and he had generously resorted to giving beggars his money after they had run out of bread. Eponine was definitely surprised at his personality beneath the stony exterior.

Apparently, she had lost five francs.

"Here we are," Eponine said, stopping outside the gray façade of her apartment complex.

Enjolras craned his neck to look up at the grimy building, a crease between his brows in slight confusion.

"Is here okay?" she asked.

"Of course," Enjolras said after a pause, unlinking his arm from hers. "Whatever makes you comfortable. I do not want to overstep any boundaries."

"Monsieur, we both know that my boundaries are far beyond simply dropping a woman off at her door," Eponine smiled.

"_Enjolras_," he corrected.

Eponine sighed. "Good bye, _Enjolras_."

"Good bye, Eponine," Enjolras replied, bowing stiffly and tipping his hat.

Eponine reluctantly dipped into a curtsy it having been nearly a decade since she'd done one. She held the sides of her skirt out and slowly bent her knees, wobbling a bit along the way. Even after her second blunder, Enjolras did not react with so much as a twitching smile.

Eponine straightened and looked at him, nodding a final good bye.

Enjolras straightened the brim of his hat pulling it closer over the wild curls that were crawling out from under it like weeds in a garden. He then nodded and Eponine went inside.

As Eponine walked up the steep staircase, her mind wandered back to her sister's unexpected appearance. She hadn't lied to Enjolras; Azelma really did hate her, and Eponine could see it in her brief moment under Azelma's hazel glare. Azelma would never forgive her for allowing Montparnasse to bed her. Eponine knew that Azelma had fancied Montparnasse since the first time they say him helping her father rob a house. Even then Montparnasse had only glanced at Azelma while haunting Eponine with his catlike gaze. She couldn't believe that Azelma had never seen that the thief had never cared for her, but then she remembered her blindness when she was with Marius. She understood her sister's anger, but not how she could reverse it.

It pained Eponine to know that her sister was living in destitution on the streets of Paris, begging for bread and change. She wondered if her father knew; he would disdain her for not being a Thenardier and taking advantage of her talents.

Eponine suddenly had an epiphany of how she could help her sister. With delight, she thought of inviting her younger sister to move in. There was certainly room for two people and they could share the bed.

That lifted a weight off of Eponine's heavy mind. Eponine quickened her pace and padded into her room, pulling a piece of scrap paper out of one of the drawers of the worn desk.

She wrote a brief note requesting her weekly sum from her father. She was careful not to mention Azelma, in case she did not wish for her father to know of her presence. Eponine's hand moved quickly and blotches of ink dotted the paper like black teardrops. She quickly drew a breath over the letter and folded it.

Enjolras wasn't going to be the only one to help the poor today.

**A/N: Thank you! Remember to review!**


	10. Chapter 10: Montparnasse, Interrupted

As Enjolras walked back to his own _garret_, he let his mind wander back to the woman, something he rarely allowed himself to do; the revolution was the important matter at hand, not mundane desires. It wasn't a sexual desire for her that he felt exactly, but more of an urge to get to know this conundrum that was Eponine.

He had, however, felt a surging desire for the girl after she had pulled her skirt up, revealing the soft skin of her leg that yearned to be touched, and that worried him. He hardly ever felt such superficial desires such as that. Luckily, this feeling of physical attraction had quickly worn off after Enjolras distracted himself with the written works of Seneca and Robespierre. The smooth leather bound feel of the books replaced what he imagined her skin to feel like and the words of liberty to become more appealing than the look in her bold eyes.

The second round of feeling he had for her was annoyance. She had annoyingly stood up and argued with him in the middle of _his _speech, and then she had annoyingly ridiculed his outfit the next day. She was bold, but intrusive, and that added to Enjolras's rising temper that threatened to skyrocket every time she was around.

The annoyance had come to admiration as he saw the way she handled the poor in a mixture of assertiveness and sensitivity. The girl who threatened the aggressive beggar not to come near was the near antithesis of the girl who cradled the crying baby in her arms, expertly quelling its tears. She said she had observed her mother do the same with her little brother… This opened yet another poorly illuminated window into her childhood.

The last, and most shocking, feeling he had felt was empathy for the girl. He had seen the way she had shut down after seeing her sister for, what Enjolras guessed, the first time in years; Enjolras could only imagine her emotional state. So far, the emphatic feeling in his chest was the most dominant and long lasting one.

Desire, annoyance, admiration, empathy. His feelings for her were like spring weather, pleasant one minute and then storming the next. Enjolras could only guess that soon, their rough cycle of emotions would soon turn back into a vehement rain. He could only hope to be smart enough to pack an umbrella.

* * *

Eponine's head snapped up as there was the sound of two short knocks at the door. A beat later there was a harder one. _The knock of a friend. _Eponine quickly ran to the door and opened it to see Montparnasse, dressed in all black aside for a dark green waistcoat that peeked out from behind his coat.

"Hello, _mon chaton*_," he purred.

"Come in," Eponine replied, glancing both ways down the hallway. Luckily, it was rather late and no one was out.

Montparnasse stepped in, taking the liberty to remove his charcoal gray _redingote_.

"Thenardier sent me to give you this," he said, removing an envelope from his olive green paisley waistcoat. He held it out to her between his middle and index finger. Eager to see the money that would finally buy her a full meal, Eponine reached out for it. After raising it inches from her clutch a few times, Montparnasse finally gave it to her.

Eponine shot him a glare and glanced down at the letter. _'Ponine Express_ was the brief address. Eponine smiled grimly at the pun.

"Cute," she said insipidly.

On the back of the letter was dark red wax with no emblem in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. She quickly broke open the seal and pulled the letter out. She unfolded it to find that, to her dismay, there was no money and just a brief message:

_information first_

_money second_

Eponine let out a loud groan of discontent.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger," Montparnasse said, his boyish face splitting into a grin.

Eponine rolled her eyes. "I should have guessed that Thenardier would make me deliver before giving me anything," she said.

"Well he gave you this nice _garret_, didn't he?" Montparnasse said, holding his arms out to gesture to the walls around them. He then plopped himself down on the couch, causing the old thing to emit a loud squeak and him to massage his lower back in regret.

"What good is a house when you are starving inside?" Eponine muttered.

_And you still have people pestering you when you want alone time_, she added silently.

"Well I actually stole a man's purse the other day," Montparnasse said from his reclined position on the couch. She saw an arm go up, a black coin purse in its hand.

"Hm," Eponine said uninterestedly.

She walked over to the small writing desk and pulled out a quill and a piece of paper. _Might as well get this process moving._ She began to write.

_The students are planning a rebellion over the treatment of the poor. They believe that the government is corrupt and does not care for the people. No word on how exactly they plan to rebel, just that they need more people on their side before they do. _

"I could _possibly_ take you to lunch sometime," Montparnasse replied, an irritating singsong tone to his voice. "But I'm saving up for a new waistcoat."

"You normally just steal them off your victims," Eponine replied before looking back down at her letter. Montparnasse wanted her to beg, and she wasn't going to do it. She could go without food for another day.

_I do not have any of the students' full names, either. They only call each other by last names. _

Her pen stopped scratching at the paper. Eponine perused the letter and decided what else she should add. She resolved to keep it short just in case her father would pull another "work or you don't eat" move on her and she'd be forced to give up any more information she may or may not have. She ran a breath of air down the letter and folded it.

"Okay, I finished it," Eponine said, standing and turning to see Montparnasse still draped across the couch. "What are you doing over there?"

His hands folded behind his wavy tresses, Montparnasse shrugged cheekily at Eponine as she approached.

"You know that used couch is probably filthy," Eponine said. For once she was looking down at him instead of up. "It will get your clothes dirty."

"Maybe I want to be dirty," Montparnasse replied quietly, catching her idle hand and laying a kiss on each knuckle. He looked up at her with bottle green colored eyes.

She remained unresponsive. She willed her face to be like Enjolras's: apathetic.

"Hey, a little something for the messenger?" Montparnasse drawled. He ran his tongue over his cracked lip. Eponine could tell he was in the mood.

His callused thumb started tracing slow circles in her palm. Eponine quickly surveyed the situation. If she turned him down, Montparnasse could throw away her letter to Thenardier out of spite. Eponine exhaled. What else did she have planned tonight?

_What the hell_, she thought as she put a hand on the armrest and bent forward, seizing Montparnasse's mouth with hers. She could hear Montparnasse give a satisfied moan as she opened her mouth and let their tongues brush.

He reached up pulled her in by her tiny waist. Eponine threw one leg over him, straddling him on the couch. One hand still on her waist and the other tangled in her hair, Montparnasse craned his neck upward as if trying to devour the girl completely. He lightly bit her lip, feeling the swell of it between his straight teeth. Eponine let out a small whimper as he did this, and this only caused the burning desire in his chest to increase.

He pulled away, taking in the breathless beauty of her face. He always loved her face. From the first moment he saw her, he couldn't stop thinking of how badly he wanted to cup it and see it drenched in sweat and see her completely enthralled by _him_. He reached up an zealous hand to grip the fabric of her dress. He yanked it down, nearly causing the thin garment to rip. He gazed at her bare collarbone and the way they drifted into her shoulders. Montparnasse reached up and traced the line of her right collarbone with his mouth, kissing and nipping at the skin along the way.

Eponine ran a hand from the side of his face down his neck, chest, and to the gold buttons of his vest. She started unbuttoning them and Montparnasse worked his way up the waistcoat from the bottom, their hands meeting in the middle. Eponine grabbed his and pressed them to the armrest above his head. She pressed her lips to his mouth, then to his cheek and jawbone, hard enough to feel the overlooked stubble prick her lips.

Montparnasse wretched his hands from hers, forcing them to her sides, and grabbed her heaving chest. She would not be the one controlling him tonight. He gripped the softness of her breast with one hand and snuck the other one up under her dress and let it slide up her thigh, causing her to emit a gasp that he felt against his own mouth.

Eponine entwined one of her hands in his dark locks and pulled his head up to deepen their kisses, as if they weren't hard enough already. Montparnasse arched his back and Eponine curved over him, letting his tongue explore the inside of her mouth.

Suddenly, Montparnasse took the upper hand and flipped her over, letting her lie on her back and him press his body to hers, making the couch send out another squeak. He sank down and began bestowing fervent kisses to Eponine's chest and neck. He grinned up at her, eyes gleaming, as she let out a high pitched moan. To his dismay, no perspiration was forming sparkling beads across her forehead at the moment.

Determined to see her sweating and panting with desire for him, Montparnasse pressed himself harder against her, thrusting his hips rhythmically against her, Eponine gripping the back on the couch to provide traction. He pressed his mouth back over hers, cutting a grunt of his short.

His work was interrupted by a sudden pounding on the door. The two teenagers both jumped at the loud noise.

"Eponine!" a voice shouted.

The woman in question gave Montparnasse a horrified glance. No one could know that he was here.

"Get off me," she hissed, pushing Montparnasse off of her.

Montparnasse struggled to the floor with a thump as Eponine pulled the top of her dress up and slipped her bare arm back through the sleeve.

"Eponiiiine!" the voice whined again. It was Courfeyrac.

_What does he want at this hour?_ Eponine griped.

"Just a minute!" Eponine called, trying to keep her voice level.

Montparnasse stood up, highly annoyed that his night of passion was being interrupted.

Eponine stood, as well. "_Hide_!" she hissed to Montparnasse.

His tousled black hair smacked his pronounced cheekbones as he looked around.

"In here," she murmured, pulling him by his vest into her bedroom. Montparnasse pushed her and away and smoothed the fabric of his vest, his eyes looking daggers at her. He was still breathing heavily as he watched Eponine back away. Eponine put her finger to her lips and closed the door behind her, the pounding on the front door echoing the pounding of her heart.

"Eponine, we need you!" this time it was Grantaire.

"Hold on!" she replied over the cacophony of shouting voices. Her fingers raked through her ruffled hair. She gave her clothes one last pat down and opened the door, willing her breath to slow down.

"What is it?" Eponine asked irately at the two swaying men standing outside her room.

"Our friend Combeferre won't let us in!" Courfeyrac cried, his hand shooting out to point at the pale yellow door next to hers.

"Why do you hate us?!" Grantaire slurred, banging his fists on Combeferre's front door.

"I never get a moment alone and I _live_ alone!" was Combeferre's shouted reply.

Eponine quickly came to the conclusion that Grantaire and Courfeyrac were highly intoxicated; Combeferre, she could only guess was the sober one.

"Grantaire, Courfeyrac, go home," Eponine told both of them, remaining against her door frame.

"We don't know where that is!" Courfeyrac replied stridently.

_Damn, he's really loud when he's drunk,_ Eponine mused.

"We don't remember where our houses are!" Grantaire replied, his eyes shining like a child's. "Combeferre, please let me sleep here. I will get lost on the streets!"

"We'll get lost and kidnapped and raped," Courfeyrac whined, bouncing in place like a bratty child who couldn't get the toy he wanted.

Eponine stepped out into the hall. "Combeferre," she said, lowering her voice to his yellow door, "just let them crash at your place."

"No!" was the indignant reply. "They sleep at my place more than they sleep at their own."

"Well we don't know where _ours_ is, now do we?" was Grantaire's reply.

Eponine glanced around. They were going to wake up the whole floor if they weren't careful.

"I'm tired of babying you two the next morning," Combeferre's voice said. "Especially you, Grantaire."

"Combeferre—" Eponine started.

"Why don't we sleep at this place?" Courfeyrac asked, pushing open the violet door to her own _garret. _Eponine remembered Montparnasse.

"No!" she cried, rushing back to her door to find that both Courfeyrac and Grantaire had stumbled into her apartment.

The two men were standing uneasily in the middle of the room. Grantaire was reciting some sort of poem to himself, the words unrecognizably slurred. Meanwhile, Courfeyrac was at the ceiling with astounded eyes, as if he were staring at the ceiling of the Vatican. Eponine's eyes focused in on Montparnasse's coat, draped over one chair in plain sight. They couldn't see that she had a men's coat in her apartment. Eponine dashed over and grabbed it, holding it behind her back.

"Why don't you boys take a seat," Eponine said, trying to talk slowly despite her racing mind, "and I will solve this."

She slowly backed away, keeping an eye on the boys. Courfeyrac sat down right there on the floor, crossing his arms. Grantaire walked over to the couch, tripping over his feet and sending him flying into the back of it. Courfeyrac let out a sharp laugh.

Eponine opened the door to her bedroom and slipped inside. Montparnasse was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his arms hanging over his knees. His head snapped up and the sound of someone entering. Eponine was amused to see that his hair was still messed up. She tossed his coat to him, the boy catching it midair.

"Way to go, Eponine," Montparnasse grumbled. His eyes were clouded over with a glower. He took on the image of a cat ready to pounce, the tip of its tail swishing back and forth.

"This isn't my fault," Eponine retorted, fighting to keep her voice low. "How was I supposed to know that drunken men were going to start pounding on my door?"

"Just get rid of them," Montparnasse hissed.

"I'm trying!" Eponine replied.

She stopped talking and perked up at the serious call of her name.

"Eponine?" Grantaire asked somberly as she walked into the room. She saw with immobilizing fear that he was standing over her desk, having read the forgotten letter to her father. "What is this?"

* * *

**A/N: Alright everyone, if you liked the love scene, great; if you didn't, I put it in to show that what Montparnasse feels for Eponine is a desire to dominate and control her (which we know Eponine won't let happen). That's why he quickly pushed her off when she pinned him to the couch. He wants to see her under him. Additionally, we see the street side of Eponine, the side that she tries to hide from Marius and Enjolras, which was briefly touched in the last chapter.**

**Please follow, recommend, review. Reviews make me happier than Montparnasse if ****_he would stop getting interrupted with Eponine._**

* French translation: my kitten


	11. Chapter 11: The Good Friend

Eponine opened her mouth, a small, strangled sound emitting from it instead of words. Grantaire had appeared to have sobered up at least a little at the sight of the treacherous words on the page. Eponine was desperately racking her brain for something to do; should she drop to her knees and beg for him not to tell anyone? Grantaire was the cynic of the group and often expressed that the revolution would not prevail. Perhaps he would be on her side. Eponine opted for her second choice: to lie.

"That's… my diary," Eponine managed.

Grantaire frowned and picked up the letter for closer inspection.

_Surely he's intoxicated enough to believe that._

"Diary?" Grantaire echoed, not completely buying her flimsy lie. Eponine glanced over at Courfeyrac; he'd fallen asleep on the ground and, luckily, was not involved.

"Yes," Eponine said slowly, gathering her thoughts into words, "I was writing about you guys when you knocked on the door."

"Aren't diaries in… books?" Grantaire asked in a spacey manner.

"Mine's not," Eponine said, trying to ease the mood with a light chuckle.

Grantaire, thankfully, started to erupt into laughter, too. "Eponine has a diary!" he exclaimed, laughing harder. "Eponine has a diary, and she writes about boys!"

"Yes, I do," Eponine agreed, breathing a sigh of relief. "Now, let me put that away," she took the letter from him and put it on the table for Montparnasse to pick up, "and let's get you a place to sleep."

Eponine led Grantaire outside and gently knocked on Combeferre's door. Within a minute, the man opened the door.

"Yes?" he asked drowsily, stripped down to his undershirt and trousers.

"Please take them," Eponine said, "it's highly improper for them to sleep at my _garret_."

"It seems they've quieted down," Combeferre mused. He nodded and murmured a sleepy "okay."

He opened the door wider to allow Grantaire's stumbling form inside.

"Eponine likes to write about boys," Grantaire loudly whispered at Combeferre.

"Whatever," Combeferre grunted. "Where's Courf?"

"Asleep on the floor," Eponine answered.

Together, the two managed to lift Courfeyrac's unconscious figure off the floor and drag him across the hall and into Combeferre's armchair.

"They don't look like they'll cause you too much trouble," Eponine said, cocking her head to the side.

She and Combeferre stood watching over Grantaire and Courfeyrac's slumbering bodies like parents watching their children.

"Sorry about the ruckus," Combeferre replied, looking at Eponine, "I can't stand them sometimes."

"But you still take care of them."

"Yep."

"I guess that's what friendship is," Eponine said upon leaving. Combeferre agreed with her. But in reality, she didn't know. She'd never had a friend that nice.

Eponine returned to her apartment and went into her bedroom. She found Montparnasse lying on the mattress still, hands clasped behind his still tousled head and his long legs crossed. She thought he'd have left by now.

"Now, where were we?" he smiled.

* * *

Eponine opened her eyes and rolled over to see that she was alone in her bed. What did she expect? Montparnasse never stayed the night. She always woke up, her naked body chilled in the air and bruises dotting her body. She looked down to observe Montparnasse's strange, corporeal artwork.

She huffed. Her breasts wore various purple, fingerprint-sized dots, and her hip had an already yellowing bruise from where Montparnasse had grabbed her and held her against the mattress. Those she was not worried about, for her clothes would cover them. The only thing that made her annoyed was how the yellow bruise of a bite mark stood out on her arm like a stain. Montparnasse had gripped her bicep in his teeth when he was still working towards his climax.

Once he had finished, he planted a soft kiss on her neck and then on her forehead, tasting the salty sweat of triumph that coated her hairline. Sometimes he would stay and lie with her a while, letting Eponine fall asleep in his arms while he caught his breath and gathered his strength. Last night, he had rolled off her and swiftly donned his clothes and left. Before exiting the room, he had turned.

Eponine had briefly imagined Montparnasse walking back over and lying with her tired body, but instead, he reached into his coin purse and flipped a sou towards her. She silently cursed herself for the girlish fantasy. Of course Montparnasse would leave her on her own. That's what men like him did.

She needed to stop daydreaming.

She remained in place, unable to get up and look at the coin. Sex with Montparnasse always left her drained. Eponine could only bring herself to stare after Montparnasse while being lured into the land of Morpheus, whose gentle embrace was much softer than his.

"Thanks for a fun night," he had called over his shoulder. "Buy yourself breakfast. I'll get your letter on the way out."

Eponine dropped her head back onto the mattress at the memory. Maybe she was just a whore.

Eponine turned over, not ready to climb out of bed and start the day yet. She pulled her pillow down next to her and wrapped one arm around it, leaning her cheek on the softness. The pillow couldn't replace Montparnasse and Montparnasse couldn't replace Marius. She didn't know why she kept self-deluding.

It seemed fitting that she would cry. But she never cried out of sadness. She only cried when she was stressed or angry. Instead, she was stuck in this infinity of misery, unable to fully unleash her sadness. She couldn't cry her sorrow away, and, somehow, that made it worse.

**A/N: I know it's short, but I felt like that was a good end to a chapter. I have a full idea of what will happen in the next two, so those should be up before next weekend. **

**Also, if you have any request for scenes to happen, feel free to pm me or write them in the reviews. I will fully consider them. **

**Thank you to my new subscribers that put me over my goal!**


	12. Chapter 12: Finally Getting Shoes

Eponine felt dirty—physically and metaphorically. She proceeded to call on one of the servants to bring her a pitcher of water and a rag to clean herself off.

Eponine had scrubbed herself and done what she could do her now only half-tangled, dripping hair. She had finished her attempt to scrub some of the dirt off the hem of her dress when there was a knock at the door. She glanced at the tinged brown water. It was the shade of her eyes- colored the scum and dirt of the streets.

Upon opening the door, Eponine saw the face of Combeferre. She smiled a hello.

"Good day," Combeferre said, "Enjolras wants you to meet him at _Café Musain _immediately."

* * *

Enjolras paced around the second floor of the _Café Musain _in impatience. Where was Eponine? His mind had sprung forth an idea about the revolution while he had been sitting in class with Combeferre. He had managed to scribble a bit of the idea in the corner of his notebook, but upon arriving at the _Café_, he had dozens of others blossoming in the field of his mind and had no way to write them down. He needed to give the seeds to Eponine for her to remember, as well.

He absentmindedly rubbed his arm from where he had accidentally slammed into a passerby on the street. The collision was hard enough to stop both of the young men in their paths.

"Pardon," Enjolras had said to the dark haired man.

"Watch where you're going, pretty boy," the other had replied, his emerald eyes gleaming.

Enjolras's attention was turned to the stairway as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He expected that it was Eponine—not just because she was supposed to be showing up any minute, but because the rhythmic beating of her step against the wood was uniquely her.

She reached the top of the banister and swung around it, her momentum carrying her forward into several steps towards him. The movement reminded Enjolras of a water glass being knocked over, the wall of water rushing out onto the table and then eventually drawing to a stop.

"What's wrong?" she breathed.

"I—" Enjolras started. He then glanced at her feet—her running steps were too soft. "Where are your shoes?"

Eponine glanced down and then smiled wryly at him. "They slowed me down."

It was true. Eponine seemed to be too graceful of a girl to have her flowing gate always tripping over those oversized boots.

"_Mademoiselle_, I believe we agreed for you to wear Combeferre's shoes," Enjolras said.

"What does it matter to you?"

"I—I need to protect the people of France!" Enjolras replied indignantly.

"And their feet," Eponine added, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Enjolras said, "I want you to be well-equipped for the demonstration."

"What demonstration?"

"Oh yes," Enjolras's eyes lit up with the fire of the revolution, "this is what I called you here about. We will set up a demonstration in the streets. The _Les Amis_ can all give speeches in _Saint Michele_. The poor are already out there so they can hear. Plus, we have someone like you to relate to them and make them feel more welcome. When they hear you speak about how you've found help in us, they will be urged to join our ranks—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Eponine interrupted. Enjolras looked dismayed to be cut off. "I'm not making a speech."

"Why not?" Enjolras took on the image of a thwarted puppy.

"I'm not good at speaking in front of people," Eponine replied. "I would just get embarrassed and end up stuttering and…" she trailed off, assuming he got the point. All these were true, and, also, she didn't know if she wanted everyone seeing her with the _Les Amis._

"You speak at the meetings," Enjolras argued.

"Yeah, but that's not in front of a hundred people I don't know," Eponine replied.

"Imagine if you were the face of the revolution," Enjolras said. "You'd be _Patria_, once destitute now strong. You will show how far you have come and how the _Les Amis_ help the poor!"

"That would never work."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing," Eponine answered, "I haven't come far from poverty. Yesterday, all I ate was that bread. Today, I finally got a sou to buy a lunch with. I still don't have a pair of fitting shoes. I have one dress. My bed is a mattress. Enjolras, I haven't come far at all."

Enjolras didn't reply. His forehead showed the wrinkles of a deeply troubled and despondent man. "Then we'll make you come far."

"What?" was the short reply.

"I can get you some shoes right now," Enjolras said.

"I don't want any charity," Eponine responded.

"It's not charity if I get something out of it," Enjolras's answer seemed pre-thought out.

"Okay, well, secondly," Eponine said, "I don't want to make a speech."

"Come on," Enjolras said, "It would help morale."

"No."

"Please," Enjolras hummed. He didn't have to beg people very often. He was bad at it.

"No."

"A _one_ minute speech," Enjolras said.

"No."

"I'll write it _for you_," importuned Enjolras.

Eponine took a breath to deny him again, but Enjolras interrupted her.

"Think about it," Enjolras said. "You get a pair of shoes and all you have to do is say a one minute speech that I prepare for you."

Eponine looked up at him. He was craning his neck, peering down at her insistently. She knew that he wouldn't leave without a yes.

"Damn, you're persistent," Eponine said with an exhale. "Fine, I'll do it."

A smile instantly lit up Enjolras's face. She'd never had a good look at his grin before. They were all straight, but one of his front teeth was slightly longer than the other. Additionally, Eponine could barely make out a chip in the tooth behind his left canine. His smile was still prettier than hers; she didn't even _have_ the tooth behind her left canine.

"Perfect," Enjolras grinned. "I will have a speech ready for you within the week." His eyes widened at her forearm. His mouth turned into a gawk of astonishment. "Umm, what is _that_?"

Eponine gasped and followed his gaze to the teeth-shaped bruise on her arm.

"Grantaire bite me last night when he was drunk," Eponine lied. "I know, right?"

"Grantaire?"

"Yes," Eponine said, quickly telling him of the story of him and Courfeyrac at Combeferre's door, obviously leaving out the details of the letter and Montparnasse.

"Grantaire is just so weird," she said, sealing the story.

"Indeed…" Enjolras responded, not so sure if he believed the story or not. He wanted to. He wanted to believe it was something never meant to intentionally hurt her.

"So are we buying the shoes later today?" Eponine asked, changing the subject deliberately.

"Umm, I now must go to a meeting I have planned with General Lamarque about the plight of the lower class," Enjolras said, still obviously concerned with her arm.

"Occupied, as always," Eponine observed aloud. Enjolras gave her one last smile before descending the stairs.

* * *

"I think these will do," Enjolras said to the shopkeeper, "they seem to be her size."

Enjolras was now at a shoe peddler's small shop after his meeting with General Lamarque. He had been looking forward to the meeting with Lamarque like a little boy to Christmas, but throughout their discussions, he kept getting distracted with images of Eponine,an empowered and striking _Patria,_ standing proudly upon the demonstration's makeshift stage.

After their meeting ended, Enjolras promptly went to uphold his part of the bargain and buy Eponine some shoes.

"Are these for your wife?" the shopkeeper asked, looking down at the dark brown, leather boots and tracing her thumb over the off-center buttons that rose from the bridge of the shoe up to the top. She had needed to help Enjolras throughout the entire choosing; he didn't know a thing about women's fashion.

"Oh, no," Enjolras replied, handing her his coin purse. "She is just a friend."

The clerk perked up and then smiled slyly. "Well you are an excellent friend, monsieur. Tell her Cassandra the shopkeeper hopes she loves them. And that she's jealous of her."

"I will, mademoiselle," Enjolras said curtly. "Have a good evening."

The woman bid him the same and handed the customer the shoebox and coin purse. As the handsome, blonde man walked off, she clucked to herself, "I would pay to have a friend as generous and attractive as that… the mademoiselle better take advantage."

* * *

Eponine arrived at her apartment to find a small sack shoved under her door. She tugged it out to find it filled with money. She smiled, counting it. Ten Francs. It wasn't much, but she could get by on it.

She then heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find, oddly, Combeferre again.

"Second time today," she said.

"Enjolras wanted me to give this to you," Combeferre said, holding up a box. There was something in his tone that annoyed Eponine.

"It's shoes," Eponine said, wiping the smile off his face. "We made a deal."

Combeferre handed the package off to her. "Alright…"

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, the smile creeping back onto his face.

"He's not trying to woo me or anything!" Eponine retorted.

"First he took you on a date and now he's buying you shoes," Combeferre said bluntly.

"No," Eponine asserted. "I took him to feed the poor and now we are exchanging shoes for a speech at this demonstration thing he wants to do at _Saint Michele_."

"Is he going to propose to you next?" Combeferre asked, the last two words being muddled by his laughter.

"Go away!" Eponine shouted lightheartedly closing the door in his face.

"I'll save the date!" Combeferre's muffled voice called through the door.

Eponine halfheartedly stuck out her tongue at the door. She then sat down on her couch and took the lid off the box. As she expected, it was Enjolras's end of the bargain. She pulled one of the brown boots out of its tissue-papered binds and a note came fluttering out and onto the floor. Eponine picked it up and read it.

_I hope they fit. If you aren't wearing them the next time I see you, then be prepared for a twenty minute speech._

Eponine let out a short laugh and then tried on the boots. They seemed made for only her. She stood up, feeling like Cinderella with her distinctive, perfectly fitting shoes. She twirled around a bit on her floor as if she were preparing for the ball. This was the first time that she felt like the heroine of the story and not the mean, unfortunate step sisters that lose the man to their sister, or in this case, Cosette.

_Hmm,_ she mused, _perhaps I can rise from ashes and become a princess, too._

**A/N: So we FINALLY wrap up this shoe subplot.**

** Yes, Enjolras bumped into Montparnasse on the street. Also, Enjolras is in love with Patria... Eponine will soon become Patria... you see where I'm going with this. *raises eyebrows and smiled seductively***

**Please review. Reviews make me happier than Combeferre disillusioning himself with thinking of Enjolras wooing Eponine.**


	13. Chapter 13: Ink Smudges

Courfeyrac and Combeferre both looked delighted as Eponine pranced up to them in her new shoes in the _Café Musain _the following week. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were having a drink just before the meeting convened upstairs.

"I have my glass slippers and I'm reading for the ball, monsieurs," Eponine crooned.

"So these are 'The Shoes.'" Courfeyrac said shrewdly, eyeing her feet suspiciously over his beer mug.

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Don't poke fun."

"Yeah, Courfeyrac," Combeferre teased, bumping his crony and causing him to cough on some of his drink, "they're _just friends_."

"We're not even friends," Eponine interjected, "we're more like… coworkers."

"Eponine?"

The girl in question started and turned to see who was calling for her. Enjolras stood a few paces back at the foot of the stairs, clad in a crimson tailcoat. Eponine wondered if it could be any more red. She could see his hair was tangled from running his fingers through it, and his face was marked with tired lines. His right hand, gripping the banister, was stained gray from his pinky down to his wrist; Eponine assumed he'd been writing. He didn't appear to have heard the exchange.

"Can I speak with you a moment upstairs?" Enjolras asked.

"Of course," Eponine replied, shooting a look at the giggling _Les Amis_.

"You know," Enjolras said as Eponine followed him upstairs, her shoes making a satisfying clicking on the steps, "I considered us friends."

So he _had_ heard.

"I was only trying stop possible rumors," she replied lightly. "Wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation with scandalous affairs."

"And what about yours?"

"I don't have much of one to ruin," she grinned.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Enjolras pulled a notecard out of his vest. She took it from him, feeling the warmth from his body heat on the parchment.

"It's your speech," Enjolras said proudly.

Eponine held the card closer to her face in an effort to decipher the curling letters.

"One minute, as promised," Enjolras added.

"I can hardly…" Eponine trailed off, frowning at the words on her script.

"I made my best attempt to write neatly," Enjolras said. "Sorry if it's—"

"No, it's…" Eponine replied softly. "I—I don't know what any of these words mean."

Enjolras was thrown a little off balance by her confusion. Eponine, noticing Enjolras's perturbed look, avoided his blue gaze.

"Which ones?" Enjolras asked, trying not to make her any more embarrassed than he could already tell she was.

Eponine took a breath. "The third one." _I couldn't even get through a single sentence._

"_Quashes_ means suppressing or holding down," Enjolras told her. He could still see that she was ashamed. Enjolras had once again brought her class under the spotlight. He didn't really know what to say. This was why he rarely chose to deal with women; he never knew what words to say that would ease their consciences.

"It's okay if you don't understand," he said softly. "I used a lot of legal jargon."

Eponine ran a self-conscience hand over part of her hair and looked back over at the speech. "Why didn't you just use 'hold down?'"

"To be honest, I don't know," Enjolras said, trying to laugh. There were no words for how awkward he felt in that moment. "I wrote it while I was studying."

Eponine gave him an annoyed look and still didn't say anything.

"What other ones did you not know?" Enjolras said, lightly pulling her wrist, the one holding the speech, up into his view. "I'll teach you."

"What does _in—in_… _that_ mean?" Eponine asked, giving up and pointing to the word.

"_Incarcerate_," Enjolras enunciated. "It helps when reading a word to pronounce it out loud, enunciating every syllable. That's what I was taught in school."

"I never went to school," Eponine said bluntly.

_Damn you, Enjolras!_ He thought, angry that he had brought their class difference up once again.

"Then how did you learn to read?" Enjolras asked before he could think better of it.

"I would steal books from those who stayed in my father's inn," Eponine replied, looking up him, her eyes outlined by lashes as black as night. "Go on, you can scold me for stealing."

"I do not scorn you for being hungry for knowledge," Enjolras said seriously. "Instead, I admire your audacity."

"Thank you…" Eponine replied. "Now what does this _incarcerate_ word mean?"

"That means to imprison."

"'We are imprisoned by the crown of… injustice,'" Eponine read aloud from the notecard.

"Good!"

"And what's that word?" Eponine asked, pointing with her free hand to another word on the page.

"_Alleviate_," Enjolras said, arching over her short body to see the small piece of paper. "It means to lighten the burden of someone."

He wished he had written bigger. That way, he wouldn't be breathing down Eponine's neck. She could surely feel puffs of his breath every time he spoke.

And she could; Eponine felt every syllable of the word caress her neck. "_Alleviate_," Eponine echoed, liking the feel of the word on her tongue. "Okay. And what's this?"

"_Junction_," Enjolras read, "it means unity."

"Okay, so if I _juncted_ with the Les Amis, I would become one of them?"

Enjolras laughed. "No, that's not a word. It's only junction. There's no verb form."

"That's so stupid and unneeded," Eponine groaned, leaning her head back and almost hitting Enjolras's chin with her crown. Enjolras shifted to avoid her mass of hair. He caught a whiff of her scent: soap mixed with an earthy aroma.

"There is nothing stupid about the art of rhetoric," Enjolras said. Eponine laughed, unaware that Enjolras was completely serious. "What else did you not understand?"

Eponine looked back down at the speech, laughter still humming in her throat. Enjolras thought it sounded like a buzzing bee in spring, flitting just past his ear.

"No more so far, I suppose," Eponine said, "however… are you sure this speech is only one minute?" She smiled at him deviously.

"Yes," Enjolras replied, "it may be a few seconds over, give or take, but it is close to a minute."

"Over!" Eponine echoed. "You broke our deal, then."

"No I didn't!"

"You must buy me a new dress to make up for it," she sang, leaning her head back again to look at him, his stern face upside down in her vision. Enjolras stared down the bridge of his nose at her smile.

"No," Enjolras replied, his tone the near opposite of hers, "the last thing we need is to look like lovers."

"Oh yes, the Apollo's marble white reputation," Eponine warbled, "he can't be seen with me. I suppose I understand; you're a bourgeoisie and you must set an example."

"That's not exactly it," Enjolras said. "I need to set the example for others to be as devoted to the revolution as I am."

"This," Eponine laughed, holding up the notecard, with his hand still on her wrist, "is your ultimate devotion? Silly words of liberty on a piece of paper?"

"I put hard work into that speech and you should appreciate it," Enjolras replied sternly.

"Then why don't _you_ read it?" she asked cleverly.

"I'll read it right now," Enjolras said, holding her wrist up and clearing his throat, "'the government quashes its people under a chain like dogs. We are incarcerated by the crown of injustice. The Les Amis de l'ABC intend to—'"

"Oh, Enjolras!"

The two's heads snapped up at the call.

"Whenever will we start this _assemblée de la justice_?" Grantaire sang from the top of the stairs, his signature wine bottle in hand. "Not that I'm antsy to start or anything, but I couldn't help but wonder what in the world was going on up here between you two."

Enjolras, realizing that he was still gripping Eponine's wrist and standing very close to her, dropped her thin limb and stepped away. "I was just showing Eponine her speech for the demonstration, which I will talk about in the meeting tonight," he said quickly.

Grantaire smirked at the two. "Whatever you say."

"Now take a seat, Grantaire," Enjolras scolded. "By the way, I don't want to hear about you biting anyone ever again."

Eponine glanced down at the faint bite mark on her arm and stifled a laugh.

"What are you talking about?" Grantaire questioned.

"Alcohol is no excuse," Enjolras said. "There's a fine line between acting like an animal and a human being."

"Yeah!" Eponine interjected, fighting her lips from smiling.

"What?" Grantaire frowned, obviously trying to recall a memory in which he bit someone. He failed to remember anything, simply because the incident was a made-up excuse from Eponine.

"Grantaire, just sit down," Eponine told him, quickly glancing over at Enjolras. "Enjolras, would you like the gather everyone else?"

* * *

"The demonstrations will start by the end of April," Enjolras said to the many faces of the _Les Amis_. "We can preach to the poor about the injustice of the political system and get them on our side."

"April? As in this month?"

Eponine was standing up once again in the middle of one of Enjolras's speeches. Grantaire put a notch in table with his pocketknife, marking yet another soon-to-be argument between them. He noted that the small slash was newest in a long line of notches in the wooden surface.

"That's too soon," Eponine said to Enjolras. He sighed. "They won't listen until they learn to trust us."

"And how do we do that?" Enjolras asked. "I'm guessing you have an answer," he mumbled under his breath.

"Feeding them once more," Eponine responded. "We can feed all of them and then do the demonstration while they eat."

"So you want to wait until we have enough bread to feed them all?" Enjolras echoed incredulously.

"Yes!" Eponine replied. "I know that's not what you want, but that will get their attention!"

The _Les Amis_ sat back in their chairs as the couple began debating. They knew well enough that the meeting would soon be over as soon as the fighting stopped. All they had to do was wait out the hour.

This had grown to be a well-practiced ritual over the past few weeks, for it had become a rare occurrence in which Enjolras and Eponine did not erupt into a shouting match after Eponine challenged one of the chief's ideas. That had become Eponine's role: always questioning Enjolras. It had now become Enjolras the chief, Courfeyrac the center, Combeferre the guide, and Eponine the challenger.

"You are one of the most arrogant people I have ever met!" Eponine shouted. "You're words aren't so enthralling as to capture and entire crowds attention when all they care about is food!"

Combeferre lifted his eyebrows at this. He proceeded to mentally put another point next to Eponine's name in this game of debate.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Omniscient," Enjolras retorted. "Since you insinuate that you are the paramount commander, then why don't _you_ propose an better machination?"

Eponine glared at him, not saying anything.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows even higher. _Opponent at loss of words_, he thought, giving Enjolras a point in his mental game.

_Oh God_, Enjolras thought, _she doesn't know what that means. She'll think I'm trying to undermine her knowledge to win._

"Since you seem to think you are a better leader, then why don't you suggest a plan?" Enjolras repeated, this time in simpler terms.

His clarification only seemed to offend Eponine more; her jaw was clenched and her brow was furrowed. She narrowed her eyes at him. "See?" she spat, "you're too bourgeoisie to understand anything about the poor." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, Marius following suit.

The other men in the room watched her go, their heads turning in unison like the spectators that they were. The room was silent, all of the_ Les Amis_ either in awe or discouragement over what had just happened. Enjolras looked crestfallen, as he was the one who had just lost the informal debate. Combeferre was unsure who to give the last point to: Eponine for her biting last remark, or Enjolras for his ousting her.

"The meeting's over," the leader said halfheartedly. He turned around and gathered his law books into his arms. He started to walk out. A white square caught his eye on one of the tables.

He picked it up. _Eponine's speech._ He could see the corner was ripped off and there was a smudge in the shape of a finger print at the bottom from her fiddling with it during the meeting. He would have to give it to her later.

"I, personally, was expecting one of them to opt out of the revolution entirely," Enjolras heard Courfeyrac saying at the bar as he descended the stairs. "I knew it wouldn't be Enjolras…"

"She hasn't left," Enjolras replied.

The other revolutionaries, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Grantaire, Bossuet, and Jean Prouvaire, all looked at him.

"She was rude for interrupting you, Enjolras," Jean "Jehan" said.

"That _gamine's_ got quite a mouth on her," Bossuet added, "it's a wonder no one's bound it shut. It would do the world a favor to keep her from blabbering."

"She has just as much of a right to speak as you do," Enjolras responded quietly, inciting eyebrow raises from his friends.

"What?" he asked, seeing his friends' expressions. "I support the right to express one's opinions."

"Mhmm," Grantaire laughed, "can it be that our friend likes heated arguments with the mademoiselle?"

"Well, it is nice to have a differing opinion in the room," Enjolras replied carefully.

"It is also nice that she has a pretty face," Jehan added.

"Can it be that our leader has finally found himself in awe of a woman?" Combeferre asked, putting a hand to his chin and leaning toward Enjolras mockingly.

"No!" Enjolras replied. "I admire her wit and nerve, but nothing else."

"Oh, so you think she's ugly?" Grantaire responded.

"No, I never said that," Enjolras said defensively.

"So you do think she's pretty?"

"I see what you all are trying to do here, and I'm not falling for it," Enjolras said, red slightly creeping up on his face. He was glad that his books gave his hands had something to do. "Now, I must go and return her speech to her."

"Do you want me to attach a poem to it?" Jehan, a poet, said, "because I can conjure up words that will make her forgive you in a second."

Enjolras shot him a blue glare. "I do agree that I have offended her, but a poem is not necessary."

"I think it would help greatly," Courfeyrac said, "'Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm normally good with words, but not around you…' with 'please forgive me' at the bottom."

"No," Combeferre said, "'Roses are red, violets are blue, if you help in my revolution, I'll marry you.'"

"'Roses are red, violets are blue, if you want to _feel_ a revolution, let me fuck you,'" Grantaire recited. There was astonished laughter accompanied by gaping mouths at his ribald wit. Enjolras grimaced at the vulgar drunkard.

"These poems are terrible," Jehan said. "Let me show you amateurs. 'Roses are red, violets are blue, _Patria_ was my focus, until I saw you.'"

Courfeyrac let out a high pitched "aw."

"How about this?" Enjolras replied. "'Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm planning a government overthrow, I don't have time for this.'"

"That one didn't even rhyme," Jehan said, raising his voice as Enjolras walked out of the café. "You can't possibly expect to court her with that!"

"Especially when the obvious word would be _you_ because that rhymes with _blue_," Grantaire said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't even get me started on your poem," Jehan replied to the green eyed drunk. "I do hope you've never tried that on anyone."

"Maybe on a whore or two," Grantaire said before taking a swig of wine. "Mine was obviously the best."

"Excuse you," Jehan interrupted. "Mine was most likely to woo a woman!"

"I think mine was kind of cute," Courfeyrac argued.

"It's contradictory," Combeferre claimed. "If you weren't good with words, then you wouldn't have been able to write a poem."

"No, you missed the entire crux of my argument," Courfeyrac replied, "I said I'm normally good with words, but not around her, so I wrote a poem."

"That doesn't even make sense," Combeferre argued.

"Mine was best, so I think you should all just shut up now," Jehan decided.

"No, that wouldn't get a woman in your bed," Grantaire replied.

"Oh, and yours would?"

The Les Amis burst into an argument nearly as heated as Enjolras's and Eponine's upstairs. Bossuet awkwardly sat in the middle, silently praying that no one would make him choose the best one. Not to his luck, four pairs of eyes turned to him.

"Bossuet?" Grantaire announced. "Pick one."

* * *

**A/N: So Enjolras has ticked dear Eponine off...** **Now Enjolras has to swallow his pride and apologize... Expect that in the next chapter.**

**Thank you for reading! Please recommend and review this story! I'm trying to reach 100 followers.**

**I'm also thinking about making a music playlist for this fic, but I'm not sure where. The only song I can think of for them at this moment in their relationship is "Kiss With a Fist" by Florence + the Machine because they are constantly biting at each other. If you have any ideas, you can suggest them in the reviews or in my tumblr ask box (marblefacade)**


	14. Chapter 14: The Silence of the Unsullied

**A/N: I strove to publish another chapter to ease you all with exam week. The reviews on my last one were so sweet! You all seem to be very excited for Enjolras's apology scene, so writing it was a very daunting task. I hope I satisfy at least some of you!**

* * *

"Eponine, wait up!" Marius called.

Eponine turned to see him jogging to catch up to her stride in the twilight air.

"Eponine!" Marius panted. She stopped to let him catch up. He put his hands on his knees. "You walk almost as fast as Enjolras."

"I suppose," Eponine replied stonily. "Now why did you follow me out here? I'm not delivering another letter to Cosette."

"No, not that," Marius said. "I'm sorry, by the way. I know you are not a carrier pigeon."

"And don't you forget it," Eponine replied.

Marius chuckled and closed his eyes. Eponine always thought he looked so cute when he did that embarrassed laugh. Marius always seemed so boyish and bashful to her.

"Please forgive me," he said, putting his palms together like a pleading little child.

The ghost of a smile graced Eponine's lips. "I do."

"Excellent!" Marius shouted, startling Eponine. "Now, are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" She asked with a laugh. It was hard to _not_ be alright with Marius like this.

"You stormed out of the meeting like the building was on fire," Marius said, walking backward to face her as they talked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Oh, Enjolras just irritated me," Eponine told him. With Marius's sudden apology, she had nearly forgotten why she was so angry. Marius always made her forgetful. When she was with him, she forgot her curfew, her standing, her anger.

"When does he _not_ irritate you?" Marius said with a laugh. "You two argue every meeting."

"True," Eponine agreed. "He just… he's so arrogant, you know? He thinks he knows everything about everything."

"I can see how you can say that," Marius replied as they walked down the empty Parisian street.

"Especially about the poor," Eponine added. "He thinks he knows everything about them, and all that he does know is what I've told him or what he's read from books. How does he expect to stage a rally if he has no allegiance with the beggars? I _am_ the lower class. He should take more advice from me."

"Eponine, don't call yourself that," Marius replied.

"What? It's true. I'm poor," Eponine said. "I've grown up in the lower class."

"I guess that part is true, but you shouldn't call yourself low class," Marius told her.

Eponine was glad that the lack of light hid the blush on her face. "Thank you, Monsieur Marius."

"No problem, Eponine," Marius said. "I feel bad because you are my best friend, yet I have barley spoken to you as of late."

"You're a busy person," Eponine replied.

"That's no excuse-" Marius proclaimed as his words turned into an exclamation as he tripped backward over a loose cobblestone.

Eponine let out a gasp and managed to grab his hand and pull him forward before he hit the ground. Marius had the strength to push himself back to his feet.

"Monsieur Marius!" Eponine laughed. "You are so clumsy. You should have known not to be walking backwards."

"I knew I had a hero like you to save me!" Marius replied, putting his hands on her shaking shoulders. He let go, much to her chagrin, and began walking in step beside her. Her shoulders could still feel his touch.

_What are you doing, Eponine? _The voice in her head told her. _You became a spy over betrayal from this man. Act like it._

"Where are you heading, 'Ponine?"

_Please don't call me that. _"My new apartment."

"Oh, when did you get that?"

Eponine bit her lip, making up an answer. "My father bought it for me. He's trying to bribe me to do a job for him."

That was a good enough answer. Marius didn't know that Eponine's father was the policeman Thenardier; as far as he knew, Eponine's last name was Jondrette. However, he did know that the older man was bad news. The answer was vague enough to make sense.

"Did he also buy you those shoes?" Marius asked.

Eponine glanced down. She didn't even know he had noticed.

"No, Enjolras did in exchange for me giving a speech at his demonstration," Eponine said, "which will apparently be at the end of this month…"

"If I didn't know Enjolras any better, I would say he fancies you," Marius said. "He actually pays attention to you for one thing. He hardly even looks at women. BUt you know, he's Enjolras and he's committed to France."

Eponine laughed. "Knowing him, the only thing he wants to marry is a free France."

"Speaking of marriage," Marius said, "I want you to meet Cosette. I'm sure you two would be great friends. It pains me to think that she wouldn't have any bridesmaids."

Eponine stopped in her tracks, her breath halting, as well. "Bride?" she managed to choke out. "You and Cosette are getting married?!"

"You know my finances—there's no ring yet," Marius responded. "But it's obvious that we were born for each other."

_And I thought I was born for you._

"Eponine?"

She realized she hadn't replied. "That's great. I'm happy for you."

"You just weren't saying anything."

"I'm at a loss of words I'm so happy," Eponine lied. She was doing a lot of that lately.

"You have no idea how much her existence blesses my life," Marius said. "I hope you find someone like that."

_I thought I had._

"Well, this is my stop," Eponine said, pointing to her building.

"I didn't know you were so close," Marius said, splitting from her to go to his own dwelling. "Good night, Eponine!"

_You don't know a lot of things, Marius,_ Eponine thought sullenly.

Eponine pushed open the door to her apartment and closed it, leaning against the wood. She let her knees relax a little, her body sinking and her hair ruffling against the wood. Marius was going to be married. He would bed Cosette and they would have children. There was officially no way for her to be with him now.

"You're home late."

Eponine jumped at the voice. "Oh my God! Montparnasse, don't scare me like that!"

The silhouette of the young thief stepped out from her bedroom. Eponine heard the scratch of a match being lit and, suddenly, the thief's face shone orange in the lone flame. The flickering light highlighted the contours of his cheekbones where they cast a shadow that made the rings under his eyes black and soulless. He tipped the brim of his hat at her in greeting.

"How did you get in here?" Eponine said, catching her breath. "The lock wasn't broken."

"Your father has a key and he was here, but he got fed up and left," Montparnasse told her, lighting a candelabra that sat on her desk. "I stayed."

"Obviously," Eponine said, walking to the window. She could see the yellow squares of light coating Marius's apartment building. She placed her fingertips against the cool glass of the window. The heat of her fingers created five little dots of fog. His _garret_ stood there, the lit window so close but still so far away, a reminder of why she was a spy. A reminder of all the pain that loving him caused. She loved him, yet she was still betraying him. "What are you even doing here?"

"Your father toted me along because he had a question for you, but I guess it wasn't that important," Montparnasse answered. Eponine could guess why he stayed.

Eponine's prediction was affirmed as she felt Montparnasse move her hair off her neck. She could feel him press his lips to her skin.

* * *

Enjolras walked down the lonesome street. Eponine's _garret_ should have been close. He remembered Combeferre telling him that Eponine was his neighbor. After much teasing, Combeferre had revealed which door was hers. The purple one.

_Purple_, Enjolras mused, _the color of mystery and enchantment._

* * *

Eponine shrugged him off. "Not tonight."

Montparnasse huffed. "What's wrong with you?"

"Marius and Cosette are going to be married…" she murmured, mostly to herself. She kept her eyes locked on the apartment that, in her dreams, she would be moving into after she wedded Marius.

She had imagined herself in a beautiful champagne colored dress, the skirt billowing to the floor in folds. Marius would turn red when he saw the way the corset created curves along her torso and the beaded neckline of the dress revealed two carved collarbones. Eponine's face would be the real beauty. She would be smiling so brightly at her future husband, the gap in her molars having been magically filled in to create the perfect smile.

She pulled herself away from the reverie. _Stop daydreaming_, she told herself once more. That was now a fantasy for Cosette to live out.

Montparnasse made childish mewling sounds. "'Woe is me,'" he whined in a high falsetto voice. "'Montparnasse, go away. I just want to sit here and be sad about Marcus.'"

"It's _Marius_," Eponine corrected, turning around to face the thief.

If she had stayed facing the window, she would have seen Enjolras's approaching figure on the street, his red tailcoat standing out like a single drop of red wax on black velvet.

* * *

Enjolras surveyed the apartment building. He believed this to be Combeferre's. It was hard to tell in the starlight. He continued to walk towards it, grimacing at the waste he had to avoid stepping on. He knew that Combeferre didn't live in a nice part of town; this was all his father would buy for him, unlike Enjolras's generous parents. He wondered how Eponine got the money to afford one of these apartments.

* * *

"What's so great about _Marius_?" Montparnasse asked, back to his normal voice.

"He's kind, gentle…" Eponine mused, smiling slightly at the thought.

"I can be kind and gentle," Montparnasse said, leaning onto her again, his lips brushing against Eponine's cheek.

"Montparnasse, stop," Eponine said.

"Come on, Eponine," Montparnasse argued. "I came all the way here."

"I'm not your whore," Eponine replied. "I'm not there to have sex at your beck and call."

Montparnasse reached a hand forward to put Eponine's hair behind her ear. "'Ponine—"

He was interrupted by Eponine slapping his hand away. "No means no, Montparnasse! Now stop touching me!" she snarled. "I'm not going to have sex with you! Not tonight, and especially not here, with a member of _Les Amis_ next door! Get out!"

Montparnasse was taken aback, having never seen Eponine assert such dominance. He had seen her stop _Patron-Minette_ from robbing that house, but she never seemed as vicious as this. Her petite figure seemed as tall as him as she straightened her back and balled her fists.

* * *

Enjolras stepped onto the second floor. He was looking for a purple door. It should have been next to Combeferre's yellow one.

* * *

"Now get out before I get my father to put you in jail for sabotaging his plan," Eponine warned, her eyes burning in the candlelight.

Montparnasse nodded and slowly backed away. Eponine went to open the door for him.

"Now have a wonderful night," she seethed.

"It will be hard to—"Montparnasse was cut off as he noticed the blonde man that nearly bumped into him. The red-clad leader appeared to be going to visit Eponine. "—to… get rid of that problem, mademoiselle, but I can hire someone."

Eponine was thankful that Montparnasse was as quick thinking as she. She willed her face to not look surprised at Enjolras's sudden appearance. "Yes, monsieur, that _rat_ keeps showing up in my apartment and I want it to leave."

Eponine stared Montparnasse down, imagining that her glower could set fire to Montparnasse's pretty, stolen clothes.

"Good bye, you two," he said uneasily, tipping his hat to the both of them. He quickly left the conversation.

"Who was that?" Enjolras asked, glancing back at the young man's fast retreating figure.

"My landlord," Eponine lied. "What brings you to this side of town, Enjolras?"

Enjolras took a breath. He hated apologizing to people and rarely did it. His personality could not simply make room for such humility.

"I want to apologize for what happened at the meeting tonight," Enjolras said to the girl.

Eponine looked at him. She hadn't expected him to say sorry.

"Thank you for walking all the way over here and saying that," she said. He seemed very tired, yet he still found apologizing necessary.

Enjolras was about to tell her about Jehan wanted him to write a poem, but he thought better of it. "I'm sorry for pointing out your status and lack of education in such a cruel and insensitive manner. I—I shouldn't have brought attention to it."

"You didn't mean to!"

"But still," Enjolras said. He was lucky that he had had time to think of everything on the way there, "it was uncalled for."

"Well," Eponine said, leaning against her doorway, "are you going to use my idea?"

"What?"

"Are you going to feed the poor and then speak?"

Enjolras sighed. "I'm not sure, Eponine. That's a lot of work."

"And creating a new form of government won't be? If feeding a small part of a city is too much work, then surely creating a whole new nation will be backbreaking. C'mon, it's not like you can't afford bread, Enj."

"Enj?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"—jolras," Eponine added with an uneasy smile. She supposed a nickname was out of the question.

"You care a lot about feeding the poor," Enjolras observed.

"It's hard not to care about those you used to starve with every day," Eponine answered.

Enjolras sucked in a breath. He could feel his face turning red. "I'm sorry once more," he stumbled, "I always bring up your class standing."

"It's what I am," Eponine replied. "Part of me. It's like how you're a little cold and get embarrassed easily when people bring up sex."

"Additionally," Enjolras said, changing the subject, much to Eponine's amusement. He opened the cover of one of his books, "you forgot your speech."

Eponine took the piece of paper from him. "Thank you."

"You don't get out of it that easy," Enjolras said.

Eponine perked her head up. _Did he just tease me?_

"You seem hell-bent on making me this 'face of revolution,'" she said, looking back down at the small square of paper. "I must ask you something."

Enjolras looked at her, his face a mixture of weariness and apprehension. "Go on."

"Why do you care so much about helping the poor?" Eponine asked. "You go on and on about creating a better future for them. You are a bourgeoisie. The poor are so far below you. I see virtually no benefit in a better republic for you."

Enjolras paused, taking in every aspect of her perspective. That was something he had learned to do with her—understand what she was saying and think of all the angles, then voice his opinion. He couldn't say he was very good at it, but he was trying.

"Well, I always knew I wanted a democracy for France," Enjolras said, "and I knew that I must build followers from the bottom, from those who truly need democracy. It wasn't until you brought their plight to my attention that I realized that they must be the sole focus of my revolution."

"And the—the bourgeoisie are not in any way harmed by the corrupt political system as it is," Eponine said, her brows pulling together with this conundrum. "I suppose my question is: why do you care?"

"I care simply because no one else does," Enjolras answered. "I do not believe that anyone should be left out in the cold. The works of Thomas Jefferson and Seneca have taught me that it is the right thing to do."

A smile had adorned Eponine's worn face before she even realized it was there. "A sensitive side of the marble lover of liberty. I like it."

Enjolras gaped at the girl's statement, unsure what to reply. "Well… mademoiselle, a leader cannot be too soft. He must be steadfast in his beliefs and decisions."

"But all marble crumbles eventually," Eponine replied.

Enjolras was once again unsure what to say. Her tone had become ominously solemn.

"Doesn't it all?" Eponine said suddenly.

"What?"

"Doesn't everything crumble in time? Everything becomes ashes and dust and sand…"

"You're starting to sound like Grantaire."

"I'm sorry," Eponine said, snapping out of her daze with a blink. "I'm very, very tired. It has been a trying evening."

In this light, Eponine's youthful face looked like an older woman's: worn, tired, and beaten down.

"Good night, Eponine," Enjolras said, unconsciously putting a hand on her shoulder. Eponine was taken aback; this was the first time he had touched her without cause. It was the same spot Marius had touched an hour before. "You need to rest."

"Good night, Enjolras," Eponine said. "Sleep tight."

Her mother had always said that when she tucked her in.

Enjolras walked home alone, taking in the scent and feel of the streets at night. He was shocked to find that it was so late. Had time really flown by that quickly? Remembering he had class the next morning, Enjolras quickened his pace to get back to his _garret_.

Upon Enjolras's departure, Eponine had gone back to her window. She had watched the tall man walked down the streets, passing her apartment, and then Marius's. Eponine grimaced. His building was ugly. Brown and stark, it was a silent sentinel of what she could never have, watching her with its many yellow eyes.

That night, Eponine fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. She dreamed of being in the audience of Marius and Cosette's wedding. Cosette's hair was nearly the color of the marble statues surrounding Eponine on the church pews. Eponine was the only human in the audience. She was a stark contrast against their unsullied marble. She wanted to scream and shout at Marius and profess her love, but every time she made a noise, one of the white marble statues would break.

"Marius!" She cried, the statue in front of her bursting into pieces. She flinched as a few of the fragments flicked her skin. Despite the cracking marble and shouting, Marius remained staring forward.

The marble was so beautiful, too beautiful to be ruined by her selfish cries. Eponine sat with the marble in silence, nearly as still as the statues themselves, while she watched Marius and Cosette take their vows. She couldn't bear to break the statues. She couldn't bear to break the silence. She could only bear to break her heart.

* * *

**A/N: I am personally proud of this chapter. I have some Great Gatsby parallels, with Marius's building being Eponine's "green light" of a future she can only reach for. **

**I have an AP English exam in the morning, so wish me luck! Off to get ready for bed! Btw I would love to read some great reviews before my exam!**


	15. Chapter 15: Ruined

Eponine tightened her shawl around her head and pressed herself closer to the door in an attempt to shield her features from those passing by on the street. She had draped her shawl over her head before approaching the _Gorbeau House_, the police's secret headquarters, for good measure.

"It's Eponine," she hissed at the black, one inch opening of the door.

The door opened just enough for her to slip inside the dwelling. She flipped her head scarf off her hair and let it collapse onto her shoulders. She spared the door opener a glance; he was a young teenager, dressed in dull brown clothes with large, brown orbs for eyes. Eponine then shifted her gaze to the walls surrounding her.

The _Gorbeau House_, formerly an inn, was now the place for spies and police officers to report to Thenardier during the day, and for _Patron-Minette_ to sneak in and out of at night. No matter who was occupying it, it was a place of lies and treachery.

The main door led into a parlor surrounded by a large staircase that led to the upper floor where Thenardier made his office and home. The lower floor was where meetings and plans were discussed. Eponine recalled her and Azelma playing on the stairs, scrambling up and into their room when their father came out of a meeting to tell them to be quiet. Five years later, Montparnasse came and everything changed.

Eponine and he had seen each other by chance. She and Azelma had been attempting to sew together torn quilt when the young man had barged into the room. He had looked around, alarmed.

"I've appeared to have entered the wrong room," he had said, "but it doesn't seem like too much of a mistake."

Eponine had been unaffected while Azelma practically swooned at his feet.

"Name's Montparnasse," he had said, pulling out a cigarette and placing it in between his lips. "The pleasure's all mine." The cigarette had bobbed up and down with each word.

Eponine had been about to reply when three other thieves showed up behind him. Later Eponine learned that they were called Brujon, Claquesous, and Babet.

"'Parnasse, he said third door on the left," the hulking Brujon had said. "Not second."

"I'm not good at following orders," Montparnasse replied, winking at the two girls before closing the door behind him.

That had been the genesis of _Patron-Minette_, and the start of Azelma and Eponine's crumbling relationship.

Eponine supposed that Javert probably knew about Thenardier's dealings with the _Patron-Minette_, but wasn't going to get involved until things got out of hand. Right now, there were bigger fish to fry, like the ones that were attempting a government overthrow.

"What are you here for?" Thenardier's voice rang from above. The servant, or undercover police officer for all Eponine knew, waved his hands at the issue and stalked off. Eponine tilted her head back to see Thenardier's rat-like face sneering down at her from the staircase.

"I'd like my weekly sum, _père_," Eponine smiled sweetly.

"You came all the way here to retrieve it?"

"It was a day late, you see."

The stairs began to creak as Thenardier stepped down them towards his daughter. "Here I was thinking that you had something important to tell me…"

"I do," Eponine replied, remaining near the door, her hand caressing the scarf around her shoulders. She could see Thenardier's eyes light up with political greed. "Big news. They're planning something."

"Well, get on with it, girl!" Thenardier said, waving his hands in a circular motion as if that would get information out of his daughter faster.

Eponine shifted her eyes around the open entryway, each hallway leading to various corners for eavesdroppers, then looked back at Thenardier. She shrugged.

"Okay, fine," Thenardier groaned.

Once they were behind closed doors, Eponine took a seat at the table in the center of the room. _This must be where they interrogate people_, she gathered. She leaned back in her chair, doing her best to look nonchalant. She was going to be the one in control of this interrogation.

"So…?" Thenardier urged. "You didn't come here for nothing. Get on with it."

He was eager for information. The government must have been worried about the rebellion. "I _came_ here for my weekly allowance," Eponine bargained.

Thenardier slid an exasperated palm down his face. "After."

"Before," Eponine replied cheekily.

Thenardier was about to respond, words of profanity, Eponine bet, but the door flew open.

"I was informed that the student spy had arrived," a deep voice said. Eponine's mind flashed back to the servant letting her in: a spy like her who had sent word of her arrival to others. Eponine sucked on her tongue; this really was a house built upon deceit and betrayal. She couldn't even trust a servant to mind his own business.

The looming figure of Inspector Javert stepped into the room. His pristine navy blue uniform was spotless. Silver tassels hung proudly from the shoulder pads and silver vine was stitched around the polo neck. There was a shining police badge hanging over his heart and a sword at his hip. _He has a gun stashed somewhere, too, no doubt, _Eponine thought.

Thenardier pointed and Javert's cropped head snapped to Eponine. She was torn between cowering under his cold gaze and quickly hopping up to curtsey. She opted for the second. She clambered up, holding the edges of her skirt and bending her knees unsteadily. She sat back down, remembering not to lose her cool and keeping her eyes locked on the intimidating police chief.

"A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle," Javert stated.

Eponine nodded in reply.

"I understand you have important news," Javert said.

Eponine nodded once more. Javert continued to stare at her under hooded, serious eyes, but Eponine stared right back; she imagined that they were Enjolras's stern, blue eyes, and that made standing her ground easier. This was a dangerous game she was playing, but if she was careful and meditated on all her actions, she should be able to win.

"She's not saying anything until she gets her sum," Thenardier told Javert.

"Then get it for her!" Javert said. "This is no time for greed. A revolution is impending."

Thenardier rushed out of the room, leaving Eponine alone with the Inspector.

"So you are not talking until you get your money?" Javert asked her. His voice sounded like wheels rolling along gravel.

"I'd prefer not," Eponine replied, watching him cross the room to the other side of the table. His steps with his shiny black shoes were precise and measured.

To her surprise, the older man smiled, his wrinkles deepening. "A good spy."

Eponine found herself smiling in reply. There was the sound of the door opening and Thenardier was back in the room. He tossed a small, felt bag onto the table, the coins inside making a musical clink. Eponine leaned across it and peered inside the bag, the gold of the coins reflecting in her eyes. She pocked the sum and looked back up at the two men.

"Well," she said, propped her boots up on the table, crossing them at the ankles, "I've been making some progress."

Thenardier eyes her feet. "He gave you shoes. What'd you have to do to get those?"

"I agreed to make a speech at a demonstration he's planning," Eponine replied.

Thenardier let out a short laugh. "Just a speech? No sucking needed?"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Javert said, holding out a hand to silence Thenardier. Eponine thought it was from the risqué comment, but then Javert brought attention back to the news. "What about this demonstration?"

"He plans to do a demonstration on the streets of Saint Michel to get the beggars to side with him."

"A demonstration?"

"Like a rally. He wants me to make a speech. After he does, of course."

Javert nodded, ruminating on the information. "When is it? Did he tell you?"

"He told me this morning," Eponine said. She thought back on him, surprisingly, giving the information to her.

_"Enjolras?" she had mumbled, peering at him from her doorway. "What brings you here?"_

_The blonde man had knocked on her door that morning._

_"Hello, Eponine," he said, struggling over the words. He held a book out to her. "I was looking through my library and I found a book of vocabulary words having to do with law."_

_"A law book?" Eponine repeated, cocking her head at the thin, leather-bound book in Enjolras's hand. His knuckles were white over the cracked surface of the book._

_"Yes, so you can perhaps improve your reading skills and so last night won't happen again."_

_"Oh, so I can understand your fancy words," Eponine replied._

_"Please don't take it as a slight to your intelligence," Enjolras said quickly. Eponine smirked. "You can only take it if you want it."_

_Eponine glanced from the book up at him, down to the book, then up again. "I'll take it."_

_Enjolras cracked a slight smile and she held her hand out to receive the book. As she grabbed it, she let her fingers brush his. She was in spy mode this time._

_"Monsieur Enjolras, I must ask you something," she said, looking up at him and letting her tongue slide over her lower lip._

_"Yes?" he was looking at her mouth, but he didn't seem too enthralled. _

_"When is this demonstration?" she asked. _

_"I think I've decided on the twenty eighth. Why?" Enjolras replied, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows._

_"I must memorize that speech," she replied. "You don't seem like the type to let me take notecards up there."_

_"No," Enjolras replied sternly. "I never use notecards. It takes away from the audience's experience."_

_Eponine laughed. Once again, Enjolras was not trying to be funny. _

_"You've given me quite the reading list," she said, "I'll go ahead and get to studying."_

_"I must go to or I will be late to class," Enjolras said. He quickly bowed and walked away. Just before walking away he said, "I hope you will have that speech memorized."_

_Eponine didn't reply. _

_It wasn't like there was going to be a demonstration anyway._

"It's the twenty eighth," she said.

"April twenty eighth at _Saint Michel_," Javert said. Eponine nodded. "We will have guards stationed all along the street so they won't try anything."

"You're welcome, monsieur," Eponine said, letting her feet slip off the table and standing up.

"Is that it?" Thenardier's voice asked.

"I think that's pretty important information," Eponine replied indignantly.

"I agree," the police inspector said, looking at Thenardier. "We should let her go."

Eponine thanked the two men and left. She wrapped pulled her shawl to her hairline and threw one end over her shoulder before exiting the _Gorbeau House_. Now she was off to her second errand that day.

* * *

"I'm looking for Azelma," Eponine asked on _Saint Michel_.

The old man looked at her as if he hadn't heard her. Eponine was about to repeat herself when he pointed a long, crooked finger down the alleyway to his left.

Eponine thanked him and continued to look for her sister. Eponine craned her head to see further down the alley, walking slowly to avoid puddles of filth and possible thieves waiting in waylay.

She came to stop in front of a multitude of crates and boxes, all stacked in precarious towers. She thought she saw a dark figure shift behind one of the columns.

"Azelma," Eponine called. She took a step toward the figure. The tense, still air was disrupted by a catastrophe that broke loose. The figure jolted to the side and pushed a stack of boxes towards Eponine. Luckily, she was swift enough to dodge the raining boxes with relatively no delay before running after the fleeing girl.

"Azelma, come back!" Eponine shouted. She caught a glimpse of her sister's round face as she scrambled to turn a corner into another alleyway.

Eponine pressed forward turning the corner and sprinting up to her sister. Eponine had sturdy boots thanks to Enjolras that allowed her to easily catch up to her barefoot sister. Eponine stretched out her hand and grabbed Azelma's arm, yanking her to a stop.

"Let me go!" Azelma shouted. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"Too bad!" Eponine replied, pulling her little sister closer to her.

The younger girl straightened to Eponine's height with a sniffle, wiping her nose with her arm and glaring at her with her clouded, hazel eyes. "Let me talk to you."

"Fuck off," Azelma muttered, trying to turn, but Eponine's hand was still firmly wrapped around her thin arm.

"Move in with me," Eponine said, trying to clear the darkness in her sister's eyes with light.

"No," Azelma replied. "Don't you know that I don't like to associate with those who betray me?"

"Azelma, could you let me explain for once," Eponine implored. "I've been trying to explain to you for nearly two years."

"You slept with Montparnasse when you _knew_ I liked him," Azelma told her. "Can you imagine how that feels?"

"Yes, I can imagine," Eponine said. "But—"

"Oh, and let's not forget the reason I'm here!" Azelma said with a vicious fake excitement, gesturing to her ragged dress and dirty feet. "You convinced me to run away with you from_père_, to not play into his little crooked schemes. We lived on the streets together until you betrayed me with Montparnasse. Oh, hey! And here you are doing that classic turncoat act again, working with _père_."

"How did you know that?" Eponine asked guardedly.

"Babet told me. Way to not keep your promises, Ep."

"Azelma, I didn't blatantly go back on my word."

"You told me not to work with _père_, and there you go, working for him!" Azelma shouted. "We were on the streets together and then you start working for him again?!"

"Azelma—" Eponine started.

"You knew I loved Montparnasse!" Azelma continued, the words blazing from her mouth. "You knew I loved him and you slept with him!"

"I did it for us!"

"For us?!" Azelma echoed. "How the fuck could that help us?"

"I did it for food!" Eponine said, "I was so hungry, he fed me."

"You selfish bitch," Azelma snapped, "you selfish, selfish bitch. You went behind my back, slept with the man I loved, and then got food in return. Nice to know that you had a full belly and a man by your side while I was starving out on the streets!"

"I only did it when I had to! Then I used the strength to pickpocket for _us_!"

"Yes, because we were starving after we refused to work for _père_," Azelma said. "But look where you are now! None of the things you said mattered because you are his spy!"

"Don't say that so loudly."

"You must be a great spy, Eponine," Azelma continued, actually obeying Eponine and lowering her voice from a shout. "You go behind people's backs, you lie, you ruin things."

"I'm trying to help!"

"Well you can't help anything," Azelma spat, her hazel eyes glittering with anger. "You can ruin things, Eponine! That's what you are! You're a natural disaster!"

"Azelma, move in with me," Eponine said, using a softer tone to try to calm her sister down. "Please, I have a bed, a couch. We can have a home! Just you and me."

"You, me, and your lies," Azelma replied spitefully.

"Azelma, you have to forgive me," Eponine said. "Do you plan on taking this grudge with you to the grave?"

"Montparnasse—"

"Never loved you!" Eponine finished. She saw Azelma's downcast expression and took a breath before continuing. "Couldn't you see that he never wanted you? I'm sorry, but it's true. You're just chasing pavements, Azelma, because he will never love you—"

Eponine's statement was cut off by a loud crack as Azelma's palm collided with her cheek; Eponine was bracing for it the entire encounter, but it still took her by surprise. The slap was the hardest that Azelma could muster, but the girl's feeble arm muscles only caused Eponine to flinch. Still, Eponine would be supporting a red mark for a few minutes.

"See, Eponine?" Azelma spat. "You ruin everything. Even your own apologies."

Eponine decided it was time to close her mouth and watched her sister walk away. Azelma was right; whether it was revolutions or relationships, Eponine was always bringing an end to something.

* * *

**A/N: A song I really think could describe Eponine for this fic right now is "Cut" by Plumb. It's an oldie, but a goodie :)**


	16. Chapter 16: Roses

**A/N: Thanks for reading this one. I am done with this school year, so I will be posting more frequently! For those of you who are still in school, I hope this chapter alleviates the stress of final exams a bit. Just remember, the exam is almost always easier than you think it will be!**

* * *

Eponine walked through the streets of Paris feeling numb. Her sister hated her. She could see it in her eyes—the loathing festered from feelings of betrayal coated with a bitterness born from the hard life of the streets. She hated Eponine so much that she would rather sleep in an alleyway than with her.

After her failed attempt at ameliorating affairs with her sister, Eponine didn't know where to go. She refused to go to her apartment because she knew that if she did, she would just end up staring longingly at the façade of Marius's building. She also refused to go back to the _Gorbeau House_ because she knew either or father or Montparnasse would badger her with something. The only place she could think of to go was _Café Musain_. She _had_ just gotten paid, and she could perhaps have a mug of beer or a glass of wine to dull the biting pain she felt in her chest...

Eponine stepped through the doorway of _Café Musain_ to find Musichetta working. She sat at the bar and ordered a drink. She downed it rather quickly, wanting the alcohol to take immediate effect. She wondered if the girl was judging her for starting to drink so early in the day. She didn't really care though; Eponine had found that she couldn't alter people's opinions and feelings of her. Unable to see through Musichetta's cheery tone to her inner thoughts, Eponine accepted the barmaid's friendliness with a smile. She reached into her sack of coins to pay her.

"Oh, no," Musichetta replied, taking a step back so Eponine couldn't hand her a sou, "this one's on the house."

"I have money—" Eponine started to reply, only to be cut off as Musichetta leaned in, the apples of her cheeks a light pink.

"It's the least I can do since you don't appear to have told anyone about, umm, my affairs…" Musichetta murmured.

"With Joly and Bossuet," Eponine replied after double checking to see if they were alone in the room.

Musichetta exhaled. "Yes. When you met Bossuet, it didn't occur to me until after you left that you might tell Joly or someone else."

_I have much bigger secrets to keep than a petty one such as that._

"So they don't know about each other?" Eponine asked. She was almost certain that she wasn't overstepping any boundaries; Musichetta seemed to be in need of some conversation.

"No," was the troubled reply. "Please don't think me a whore for being in love with two men, Eponine."

_Trust me. You're not the whore here._

"I don't!" Eponine replied. "In fact, I find it admirable that you can get two men to love you. I can't even get one."

"It's not as great as you think," Musichetta responded. "They're going to have to find out sooner or later. But who's the apple of your eye?"

"It's Marius Pontmercy," Eponine said as if Musichetta had enchanted her to do it. The secret had just escaped. Why had she done that? Was she that desperate to have a confidante?

"Oh," Musichetta said, sucking in a breath.

"But it cannot be," Eponine said. "He's undoubtedly told you and the whole world about his love."

"For Cosette," Musichetta said, leaning against the bar. "I'm terribly sorry. When I was thirteen, I could have sworn that I was madly in love with the son of my father's close friend. I was certain that we would be betrothed by the time I was seventeen, but alas, he decided to marry another girl—He was much older than me, you see. I was heartbroken and thought I would never feel again. But here I am, giving my heart to two different men."

Eponine nodded.

"The wound will heal," Musichetta said, her eyes, wise like a fortune teller's, boring into hers. "Whether it be because time or another man comes to bind it up, it will become a scar in no time. You will remember it, but it will no longer cause you pain."

This actually made Eponine feel better. Musichetta was much better as lightening her woes than another mug of brandy.

"Thank you," Eponine found herself smiling. "But the wound still hurts."

"Wounds itch when they heal," was Musichetta's reply. "Joly told me that."

"How do you do it?" Eponine asked suddenly. "How do you maintain two love affairs without the other one finding out?"

"Well," Musichetta said with an almost nervous laugh, "both of them think that I want the relationship to be kept secret, so they only speak of me as their 'mistress.' They can't show any affection when the others are around, so they have to visit me during other times."

"What if one of them proposes?" Eponine asked.

Musichetta put a hand to her mouth and turned away, her dark head bowed.

"I'm sorry," Eponine implored. "I didn't mean to pry or try to make thing worse."

"No, you're fine," Musichetta replied through her fingers. "It's not like I haven't thought of that. I—I know it must end somehow, when one or the other finds out, but I do not know how or what I will say."

"Do they both love you?"

"I—I think so," Musichetta replied. "If one proposes, it will be Joly. Bossuet does not want to be married."

"That's great if you like Joly better," Eponine said.

"I like them equally," Musichetta replied sternly. That was the closest thing to angry Eponine had ever seen her be. "I will not choose a favorite."

Musichetta's friend nodded. She couldn't help but feel a little jealous of Muschetta's predicament. Eponine would rather be at the point of a love triangle than stuck forgotten and unrequited at the bottom.

"Well," Musichetta said, becoming joyful again, "do you want to help me clean about the café?"

* * *

As they cleaned, Eponine found herself telling Musichetta the story of her and Cosette as children, meeting Marius, and of her fanning the flame of their love.

"I stopped delivering letters, though," Eponine said as they polished the last of the tables. _Café Musain_ was a bit run-down, Eponine had noticed, and virtually the only business it did was with the _Les Amis_. Still, Musichetta and the owner, Madame Hucheloup, tried to keep it looking as neat as possible.

"That's good," Musichetta replied, blowing some of her stray black bangs out of her eyes. "You can't let him take advantage of you."

"He doesn't even know he's doing it though," Eponine told her, "he just sees me as a close friend or maybe even a little sister."

"Well, I don't go around delivering letters for _my_ older brother," her friend responded. "I suggest you put your foot down and stay away."

"That's what I was doing," replied Eponine, "but then he ran out after me at the last meeting and… the feelings all came rushing back. I'm just so mad at myself. Why do I have to be so attached to someone whose world would honestly not even waver if I died?"

"Eponine," Musichetta said sternly. She turned and gripped Eponine's shoulders in hers. Musichetta's earthy green eyes were staring imploringly into Eponine's. "You can't help who you love. It's not your fault."

"I know it's not my fault I love Marius, but—"

"Ahem."

The two were interrupted by the sound of a man clearing his throat. The two women had been so absorbed in their conversation that they had not noticed Enjolras walking into the café. There was a brief moment of silence where Enjolras, awkwardly standing by the door, looked at Eponine and Musichetta while they gawked at him with wide eyes. Eponine could feel her cheeks turning pink, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Musichetta's were, too.

"I was going to go upstairs and work," Enjolras said, breaking the silence. "I hope that's alright."

Enjolras had obviously heard. However, his face looked unemotional as usual, a crease between the eyebrows and his mouth in a straight line.

"Of course, monsieur," Musichetta said at last.

"The others should be arriving in an hour or so," he nodded his head at the both of them, "mademoiselle, Eponine."

There was something in the way he had addressed Eponine that was different than the way he had addressed Musichetta. Perhaps it was how Enjolras wasn't allowed to call Eponine _mademoiselle_, or perhaps it was something about her overheard confession.

Musichetta and Eponine, eyes still wide, stared at Enjolras's back as he disappeared up the staircase and out of sight.

"Oh my God," Musichetta breathed, "I'm _so _sorry."

"I didn't know he was there!"

"Neither did I!" Musichetta hissed, trying to stifle a giggle. "Do you think he will do anything?"

"Enjolras seems to keep to himself," Eponine said, finding herself trying not to burst in hysterical laughter as well. "Why am I about to start laughing?"

"If I don't laugh, I will start hyperventilating," Musichetta responded through laughter. Eponine found herself laughing alongside her friend.

* * *

Upstairs, Enjolras willed himself to not listen in on the giggling whispers between the two girls. He had heard that Eponine was in love with Marius, but he cared very little; girlish gossipings were not in his column of particular interest, and that was why he rarely associated with women. Being around them, he always found himself trying to ignore them as they giggled about who they fancied.

Enjolras directed his attention back onto the paper that he needed to write for class.

* * *

Eponine pretended to listen to Combeferre while she kept flicking her eyes between him and the door, waiting for Marius. The fact that Enjolras and Musichetta now knew about her infatuation made her slightly uneasy, and it would probably get worse once Marius was there. Eponine was afraid that Musichetta or Enjolras would be a bad secret keeper and somehow give her away. Part of her didn't care if Marius knew and the other part of her desperately wanted him to stay ignorant. Musichetta had made it clear that she wouldn't tell anyone, but Enjolras had not even said anything about it.

"Combeferre," Eponine said, "as much as I'd like to hear about you and Joly dissecting a cat, I must go find Enjolras."

"I could tell you weren't listening," Combeferre said, rolling his eyes in a prima donna manner, "We got a perfect grade for the dissection, by the way."

Eponine went upstairs to find Enjolras hunched over one of the tables.

"Enjolras?" Eponine called. "Everyone's here."

Enjolras didn't move. To her delight, Eponine realized that the revolutionary had fallen asleep on one of his books. She tiptoed over to look at his slumbering figure.

Enjolras's face was resting on one of his folded forearms while the other was still loosely gripping his quill. Some of his blonde curls had tumbled over his face, partially obscuring Eponine's view of his closed eyes, whatever dreams might hide behind them, and his forehead, which Eponine could only guess was no longer furrowed in sleep. His mouth was slightly open, indicating the true form of sleep, and she could see the upturned corner of his page fluttering with each breath he took.

The corner of Eponine's mouth twitched, as she was amused to see the marble lover of liberty so vulnerable as he lay napping.

"Such a studious student," Eponine mused, reaching forward to run her hand through his golden curls.

"Enjolras?" she said as she felt her fingernails graze against his scalp.

"Mother, stop," he mumbled.

A laugh escaped Eponine's lips. "Please don't call me mother, Enjolras."

The man quickly sat up, his hair askew and the edge of the book leaving a red line on his cheek. "What?"

"You fell asleep," Eponine replied bluntly, a smirk on her lips.

Enjolras's blonde curls jolted as he looked around quickly—to her, to his desk, to his book, to the drool on his hand, and to her again. "Obviously," was the reply after he had gained his composure. Enjolras took a deep breath, hoping the red would fade from his cheeks.

"Don't try to act smart with me," Eponine said. "Now, I came up here to talk to you about something. I didn't call any of the boys up here to laugh at your unconscious body, so I'm expecting you to do me a favor in return."

Enjolras studied her wearily then wiped the back of his hand off on his pants. "What do you have in mind?"

"Don't tell anyone about the…umm… thing you overheard today," Eponine told him.

"About your unrequited love for Pontmercy?"

"Don't say it so loudly!" Eponine replied indignantly.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have been saying it to loudly downstairs if you didn't want anyone to know," Enjolras replied uninterestedly. "Anyway, it's quite obvious…anyone who wouldn't notice by now would be an idiot."

"Marius doesn't know," Eponine said, "he's never known."

"Precisely."

Eponine regarded him coldly. "You're a downer when you wake up."

"I'm tired, Eponine," Enjolras drawled, standing up so that he was higher than she. He stooped slightly, irritating the girl more, and looked into her eyes. "I've had class all day and now forgive me if I don't exactly show interest in your superficial gossip."

"My love is not superficial!" Eponine snarled, her voice suddenly heightening in intensity. She straightened her back and thrust her chin out indignantly, taking Enjolras aback.

"Nevertheless," Enjolras muttered as he went around her form, "I'm going downstairs to round up the boys."

"We're alike, you and I," Eponine raised her voice after him. Enjolras stopped and turned his neck to spare her a glance, "we both love someone who will never love us back. I, Marius, and you, _Patria_."

_What is that supposed to mean? Does she not think the revolution will succeed?_

Instead of raising his questions, Enjolras looked her up and down.

"Now go gather your men, fearless leader," Eponine replied coldly.

* * *

That meeting, Eponine sat in the back, her arms crossed and her mouth twisted into a scowl. Here she was, doing a nice thing by not humiliating him, and then he just insulted Marius _and_ her love for him.

She couldn't help but notice the apprehensive looks being thrown in her direction as if she were a cannon about to explode any moment. She met the gaze of Combeferre who gave her an awkward smile and turned back to face Enjolras.

_Odd, _Combeferre thought, _I'd have thought her to be interrupting by now._

Eponine, however, was giving Enjolras the silent treatment. He stood up there talking about the demonstration for the twenty eighth—they were going to hand out bread, thanks to Eponine—and his crowd was quietly listening.

Grantaire was disappointed; he loved seeing the fireworks at every meeting. He wondered if he should stand up and say something controversial just to get things going.

"Eponine and I will both be speaking at the demonstration," Enjolras said, shooting a glance at Eponine. She noticed that it had a touch of resentment. "Does anyone else want to prepare a speech?"

Courfeyrac raised his hand and Enjolras wrote his name down beside his and Eponine's for those who would be giving a speech. Grantaire decided he should pipe up.

"Can I give them wine in addition to bread?" he asked, his green eyes innocent, shining orbs. "It will be like communion."

"We want to improve their lives, not make them alcoholics," Enjolras replied.

"What do you think, Eponine?" Grantaire instigated.

Eponine waited a moment before responding. "I agree with Enjolras," she said tersely. Grantaire's heart sank. "Although," she added, making the drunkard perk up again, "many of them are alcoholics already. Enjolras is not an _idiot_ for not noticing, however."

"Thank you…?" Enjolras replied slowly.

"I'm sensing some tension," Grantaire piped up. "Is the lady mad at you, Enjolras? You should buy her roses to make up for it. Roses have many different meanings depending on the colors, you know. I read it in a book once. Yellow is for friendship. White is for innocence. Red is for romance. Orange is for desire for, you know, sex."

"'R," Enjolras warned.

"So, if any of us want to woo a woman all the way to the bedroom," Grantaire continued, a smile playing on his lips, "orange roses are the way to go." Grantaire smiled at Enjolras and Eponine, who only glared at him in return.

"Cosette loves flowers," Marius said to the person closest to him who happened to be Eponine. Her eyes snapped to him. "I wonder if she knows these meanings."

"Just shove a few orange roses in her face and see what she does," Eponine replied bluntly. She turned away to glare at the table.

"I've given her red, so I suppose that's good—"

"Marius," Enjolras interjected, "no one wants to hear about Cosette. Keep your romantic thoughts to yourself and stay on topic."

"But the topic of conversation relates to Cosette," Marius replied.

"I don't care," Enjolras enunciated, "about Cosette or the flowers. Now can we please continue talking about the demonstration?"

Eponine shifted her gaze from off the table to Enjolras. He was grabbing another sheet of paper of the table behind him, but as he turned back he noticed her. Her brown eyes regarded him no longer with resentment, but with gratitude. Her mouth lifted into a small smile, hardly noticeable, save for the dead giveaway of her dimples.

_Thank you, _she seemed to say.

Enjolras nodded. The motion was minute and tight, just enough for Eponine to notice. She was the only one who needed to see it; the nod was for her. Enjolras found his lips fighting their way into a subtle smile, as well. _You're welcome._

* * *

**A/N: The roses thing is actually real, and their meanings correlate with the colors of the doors in Combeferre and Eponine's apartments. Expect some serious Enjolras and Eponine moments in the next chapters. That's all for now, sweeties! Remember to review! Just say something you like about the story or are expecting to see!**


	17. Chapter 17: But Not a Diamond

**A/N: Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. The beginning was very difficult to write since I was having some serious writer's block. It also doesn't help that I get so distracted with Tumblr... By the way, I changed my url to marblelover.**

**So, here is chapter 17 (that far already?!)**

* * *

"You two stay here until we get back from setting everything up," Enjolras told Eponine and Courferyac, his fellow speech givers the day of April twenty eighth.

Eponine felt like a child being commanded what to do by her father.

"Oh, _papa_, don't be gone too long," Eponine crooned, pretending to be the child that he was treating her like. "I'll be scared!"

Enjolras gaped at her childish game, his eyes wide and flustered. He looked down to where she was clasping his arm. The way she touched him was making his nerves sing. It was as if she contained a magic touch that set him off whenever she reached out with her slender fingers… "It will be only twenty minutes, Eponine," he said while gently prying himself from her clutches. "Don't…uh… wander off."

Eponine smirked, having achieved the level of disheveledness she wished to see on Enjolras at this time. "What if a stranger says he has candy?" she inquired.

"You don't need any candy," Enjolras responded, turning to walk away, "you're boisterous enough."

"Goodbye, papa, I love you," Eponine called.

Enjolras stopped for a second and looked back at her. She kissed her fingertips and blew the said kiss towards him. Enjolras felt his cheeks redden and hastily turned away.

He was met with more discomfiture as he saw the crew with whom he was setting up. Combeferre and Jehan were both giving him annoying grins. Grantaire was supposed to be with them, but Enjolras hypothesized that he was hungover somewhere. For the time being, he was glad the drunk was not there to make some ribald comment.

"Stop that this instant," he muttered to his _Amis_.

"Oh, Enjolras," Combeferre observed, keeping his smile, "a master in everything except ladies."

"Can you stop?" Enjolras was trying hard enough to not picture the image of her blowing him a kiss without Combeferre keeping the topic alive.

"As soon as you stop ignoring the obvious," Combeferre replied.

"And what's that?" Enjolras immediately regretted asking the question.

"That you really like her," Combeferre replied. "You treat her differently than the rest of us."

"I do not—I mean, I already said—I told you that I was not going to speak about such topics," Enjolras replied, keeping his eyes forward. Did he really show that much favoritism to Eponine? Surely not.

"By avoiding the topic, you are letting it fester and infect you even more," Jehan said.

"Plato _did _say that love is a serious disease," Combeferre said. "You can't get rid of it easily."

"Talk about your feelings," Jehan prodded.

"Not on demonstration day," Enjolras shot back. "My mind must be elsewhere."

"I'm sure daydreams of Eponine are easy distractions," Combeferre said.

"Stop objectifying her, please."

"The fact stands. She's pretty. You know it. I know it. Grantaire knows it. She probably knows it."

"What's your favorite attribute of her?" Jehan asked them both. "I think her hair is very beautiful. I would like to braid it and stick flowers in it."

"Her bold eyes are so defiant and big," Combeferre said.

Enjolras kept his eyes locked on the street ahead of the entourage. He could not let himself get distracted with thoughts of Eponine. He could not think of her toffee streaked hair or her cackling laugh or her crooked smile… He could not dwell on these delightful distractions. Women were superfluous to him. He had to think of the revolution and all the things that would ensue. A woman in his life would only distract him.

But Eponine was already in his life. The girl had infiltrated his life and rebellion. Now he needed to set up mental barriers of his own before she could advance. He had been trying tirelessly for weeks to see her as one of the other _Amis_, but she was different. Her brain did not work the same way as the boys; she saw things differently and had different approaches, requiring a different sort of attention from Enjolras.

As much as he tried, Eponine was always different. Not a black sheep, and not necessarily a diamond in the rough. Eponine was not a diamond. She was too unruly to be a sparkling, clean cut stone. The girl closer resembled a piece of coal that had no interest in becoming a diamond. She was more valuable as a lump of coal—fueling fires and engines and being used to scribble down information. Eponine would never just sit and look pretty.

Enjolras also couldn't help but notice that Eponine _had _increased in beauty as of late. He wasn't sure if it was a physical change or if he had just now begun to notice. He gathered that she had been finding a way to buy food, and that was causing her body to fill out more and maintain a healthy glow. Her cheeks were less sunken and her eyes brighter. Enjolras might have even noticed that she had loosened her belt one hole. He didn't know how she was coming by this money and didn't _want_ to know, mostly because he liked her being fed and didn't want to find out she was doing something he disapproved of. He would be blissfully ignorant for both of their benefits.

"Damn," Enjolras heard Combeferre mutter. "There's a copper on every corner here."

Enjolras looked around to see Combeferre's statement affirmed. He felt a surge of anger at himself for getting lost in his thoughts of Eponine and not noticing the blue police uniforms dotting the crowd. He wasn't Pontmercy. He had to get his head on straight. No, his head _was _on straight.

"It's almost as if they were tipped off," Enjolras observed. He knew it wasn't true; none of the _Les Amis_ would tell the police about the rally.

"We can't have the demonstration here without being shut down in a second," Jehan said.

"Will we have to cancel it?" Combeferre and Jehan looked at Enjolras.

"No," he answered. "Marius and the others already are gathering all the bread to meet at the_ Musain_. We can't let that go to waste. I have an idea."

* * *

"I must say, mademoiselle," Courfeyrac said to Eponine as they waited outside _Café Musain_ together.

Courfeyrac had been speaking to her very rapidly for the past ten minutes about various topics: the upper class, the _Les Amis_, even a bit about his family back in Ireland. Eponine could tell that he had come down with jittery nerves, "I'm quite nervous about giving my speech."

_You won't be giving it today. Don't be nervous_, Eponine wanted to say, but she was forced to comfort to man.

"Just pretend the audience isn't there," Eponine replied.

"I've tried every trick in the book, but I've never been good in front of crowds. A few people, sure, but a whole crowd is hard to speak to. I mean, I think my speech is good—nowhere near as good as Enjolras's—but still, a good speech. Where's yours?"

Eponine, unlike Courfeyrac, who was white knuckling his speech, was sitting there empty handed. "I have it memorized," she lied. In reality, she only read over it once. But it didn't matter.

"Oh God, what if I forget the words?!" Courfeyrac wailed, holding his paper up to cover his face.

"You'll be _fine_!" Eponine assured.

"Monsieur Courfeyrac!" a child's voice sang.

Eponine turned in the direction of the voice to see a child, probably eleven, bouncing up to them. He had blue eyes and scraggly, blonde hair that reached his delicate jawbone.

"Gavroche!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, his anxiety momentarily forgotten. "What are you doing down here?"

"I'm ready for the rally, obviously!" was the little boys reply.

_Gavroche_. The name rang a bell, but Eponine could not pull a memory from it. She just watched as the boy jumped into Courfeyrac's arms and wrapped his legs around his waist, hanging on the curly-haired man like a monkey.

He turned his mischievous gaze to her. "Who're you?"

"Gav, that's impolite," Courfeyrac said, his voice, for the first time to Eponine's ears, heavy with seriousness. Still, Eponine felt warm at his sudden fatherly turn. She was glad for the young Gavroche to have someone around to guide him.

"Sorry, Courfeyrac," Gavroche said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "Hello, mademoiselle. What might your name be?"

"I am Eponine," the thin brunette said, holding out her hand to shake his smaller one.

"I call myself Gavroche," he replied in a dark tone, trying on a sophisticated tone of voice. "How do you do?" He gave her a firm handshake and kissed the back of her hand.

"What a gentleman," Eponine observed, making the boy's lips fight even harder from splitting into a smile. She was in the middle of answering his polite question when Enjolras, Combeferre, and Jehan showed up again.

"We can't have the demonstration at _Saint Michel_," Enjolras said to the three. "There are policemen all over the place."

Eponine suddenly felt like all eyes would swarm to her, but they remained on Enjolras.

"Do we go home now?" Eponine asked impulsively. She immediately regretted it; she hoped she didn't sound too eager.

Enjolras looked at her. She did her best to look merely curious. After a moment, his blue eyes shifted to the other young people. "We are going to pass out bread to the homeless on _Rues de Médicis_."

"So we're going to all split up and give out bread there?" Eponine asked.

"Yes, we can talk about the _Les Amis _to them," Enjolras said.

"So it will be like a demonstration but on a much smaller, more personal scale," Courfeyrac confirmed and Enjolras nodded.

"All of us in _Médicis_?" Eponine clarified.

"I'm up for it," Jehan said. "It's also by the _Jardin du Luxembourg _so there will be a great view."

Eponine's concerned questions were lost in a whirl of excited comments and affirmative phrases directed towards Enjolras. She could see his leader side glowing with the praises of his peers.

"Gavroche and I will go to get Feuilly, Joly, and the others since they are still gathering bread," Courfeyrac said, giving a small hop to keep Gavroche from sliding future down his torso. "C'mon, little guy, time for a journey."

The duo took off toward _Rue Soufflot_ while the remaining _Les Amis_ started towards _Rues de Médicis. _

"Enjolras," Eponine murmured picking up her selected pace of walking to catch his hand. Enjolras started and turned to face her. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"Of course, we can spread more word. We can have the demonstration next week," Enjolras answered.

"We've never been to this area," Eponine said. "I mean, it's pretty dangerous."

"You're here to watch out," there was a touch of… something in his voice. Eponine didn't care to put a name to it before she continued.

"I did a good job looking out when it was just _you and me_," she hissed. "Not twenty people!"

Enjolras glanced around at their entourage, but did not slow his pace.

"Enjolras, are you even listening?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't you responding to my worries?" Eponine pressed. "I don't think it's safe for us to go _Médicis_. It's unfamiliar territory."

"You know Paris like the back of your hand," Enjolras replied.

"Yes, and I know that _Médicis _is a dangerous place," Eponine said, "believe me. I've—I've been there…" She was reluctant to say that that's where she and her parents ran many a con back before she met Marius. "It's filled with thieves."

"We will give to the thieves," Enjolras said, "we will show them the kindness of the Les Amis and they will be on our side."

"No, Enjolras, it's not that easy!" Eponine groaned. "I'm telling you! We can't!"

"Eponine, we'll be fine," Enjolras reassured her. He really didn't know why she was so perplexed over the situation. _Rue de Médicis_ had just as much poor people as _Boulevard de Saint Michel_.

"Please!" Eponine begged, jumping in front of him and taking his hands in hers. "We musn't go!"

Enjolras gaped at her and she walked backward in front of him, clasping his hands in her calloused ones. Her lips were pursed as she breathed out desperate pants. Her brows eyes were concerned and gleaming. No, he would not let himself be swayed by her.

"Eponine," he said, yanking his hands away. "I'm in command and what I say goes. We're going to _Médicis_ and if you want to order everyone around, then form your own club."

Eponine let her hands drop to her sides. She was immobile for a second in her bewilderment. She watched with a creased brow as Enjolras gave her a look of arrogant superiority as he strode past.

"You are so stubborn," he heard Eponine mutter behind him. Enjolras did not turn; he merely remained walking towards the destination _he _chose for his crew. Enjolras set his shoulders, holding himself like the triumphant leader of a group of liberty. He noticed the weary eye of Combeferre upon him.

"Yes?" Enjolras asked.

Combeferre smirked. "Proud of yourself for standing up to the woman, I see."

"Shut up," Enjolras retorted.

"What a great comeback," he replied.

* * *

"See? It's not too bad, now is it?" Enjolras asked to Eponine as she overlooked, arms crossed, everyone conversing and feeding the beggars. She had been standing at the mouth of the street while everyone had advanced.

Eponine gave a nondescript grunt in reply. He smirked. Joly and the others had arrived with the bread that Enjolras had given them the funds for, and now everyone could hand the food to the beggars that were littered along the street like forgotten pieces of trash. _Forgotten pieces of trash, _he mused.

Enjolras tore his bread loaf in half and threw it to Eponine, who caught it last second. "Now give to the poor," he said before walking ahead.

Eponine glanced down at the half baguette in her hand. She glanced back up and Enjolras's curls, now lowered to the sight of a sitting vagabond.

_Perhaps I can knock the arrogance right out of your head…_ she thought, pulling her arm back and taking aim.

"Ahem," she heard from behind her.

She sighed and lowered her arm.

"Sorry to foil your plan," Marius said, strolling up to her, a loaf tucked under his arm. His shirtsleeves were rolled up in the heat. "As much as I'd love to join you in pelting Enjolras with foodstuffs, I must restrain the both of us. He deserves respect, you know."

"Still doesn't keep him from being an arrogant son of a—"

"No arguing with you there," Marius laughed.

Eponine cracked a smile and looked down at the monochromatic, brown view of the _Rue de Médicis_. The buildings, stained brown from dust, stretched down to the dirt of the street, blending to create a bland street view. She glanced up at the balconies that lined the buildings. Eponine remembered back when she worked this very street, trying to cheat kind souls out of more money than they were offering. She would often glance up and the intricate, swirling iron of the balconies and imagine if she were a rich _bourgeois _girl, looking from the balcony at the disgusting _gamine_ robbing a fellow citizen to stay alive. Eponine had always told herself that she would either stay at her pathetic level on the streets or rise high above it. There was no middle ground in Eponine's ambitions. Yet here she was, a middle ground between being an honest, hardworking woman and a petty thief, willing to steal and betray for a few _francs _a month.

"The thing is," Eponine said, "he's so stubborn. He's an avid believer in democracy, yet he acts like a king himself."

"You're pretty stubborn, too," Marius replied.

"Yeah, but at least I stand my ground on _good_ decisions," she said. "I told him over and over that it would be dangerous with a large group."

"And why is that?"

"I can't see everyone and make sure that they aren't getting robbed or something terrible," Eponine replied. "I'm only looking out for everyone's safety." Even then, she was not able to see all of the Les Amis at once. Gavroche kept leading Courfeyrac further and further away. However, Gavroche had informed her that he had lived alone for quite a while, and Eponine was less concerned with him and Courfeyrac. Feuilly, in his brown, tattered clothes was blending in with the group of people he was talking to. Joly and Bossuet were actually reluctantly standing on the doorstep of a metalworking shop, Joly no doubt convinced that he was going to get leprosy.

"You should tell him, Eponine," Marius said. "Communication is key."

Eponine shot him a look, and Marius raised his eyebrows in a way that always persuaded to do whatever task asked. "Fine."

She walked over to Enjolras.

"May the new world bring you peace," Enjolras was saying to an old woman as Eponine approached. He perked up at her.

"Enjolras," she said, turning to stand beside him so that she could see down the street to where Marius was feeding a group of boys. "I just thought that you should know that I am just trying to…"

"Eponine?" Enjolras prodded. She had trailed off, her eyes focused on something in the distance. He followed her trail of sight. She was watching Marius converse with a few _gamins._

"Something doesn't seem right," she murmured. She shoved her bread into Enjolras's arms and started walking. Enjolras tossed the bread towards a small family as he trailed her steps.

* * *

"Hello, _messieurs,_" Marius said to the men, not much younger than he that had flocked around him. He counted only two, yet he felt like he was surrounded. He took note of their tattered coats and sleeves that threatened to engulf their knuckles. His first instinct told him to run, but then he remembered the mission of the _Les Amis_.

"Hello, _bourgeois _boy," one said, his voice ragged from cigars and alcohol. "Now tell me what all you've got to give."

Marius's hands tightened around his baguette. "You men look hungry," he said evenly, trying not to feel intimidated, "I can give you bread—"

"We don't want bread," one said, his dark blue eyes gleaming. "Remove your coin purse and give us what's inside."

"I have food—"

"You heard 'im!" the other grunted, running a hand over his buzzed head.

"Hey, boys."

Three pairs of eyes turned to the feminine voice.

"Leave him alone," she threatened, "we don't want to cause any trouble today."

"Trying to do good now, are we?" Eponine recognized the man speaking as Gueulemer. He occasionally joined in on dealings with _Patron-Minette_.

"Eponine, do you know these men?" Enjolras asked from behind her. She had hardly noticed him tailing her over to Marius.

In a split second, Gueulemer had grabbed Eponine's arm and spun her against his scrawny chest. He pulled a knife from his coat pocket and held it up against the exposed base of her throat.

"Hands at your sides," Gueulemer growled. Enjolras reluctantly lowered his outstretched arms. "How much is she worth?"

"Don't do this," Marius pleaded, "you are a better man—"

"How much is the whore worth?!" the other thug repeated, this time much more violently. Marius winced at his voice and Eponine's jaw was cemented shut. Enjolras's eyes were hard and guarded, like a Greek statue. Eponine glanced around with quick eyes; she had left Marius off to the side of the street where few eyes could see them. Crying for help was out of the question, so it was unlikely that any of the _Les Amis_ could come to their aid.

"Empty your coin purses on the ground and then remove your coats," Gueulemer told Enjolras and Marius.

Enjolras's hand immediately went to his pocket. Marius followed his lead with his own.

"Enjolras, no," Eponine said. "It's not worth it."

"No, _it's not_," Enjolras said, giving her a warning glare, his words taking on a different connotation.

"I am not a damsel who needs saving," Eponine told him.

"Quiet," the thief said. "If you say one more word, I'll slit your throat."

Eponine let out a cry and kicked her leg back, letting her shoe hit Gueulemer square in the knee. He let out a grunt, but was not inhibited. He tightened his grip on her squirming body and pulled the knife back up to her neck. Eponine's hands went up to grab it.

"Eponine!" Enjolras's voice rang, but Eponine did not hear it. She only heard her strangled groan as she gripped the metal of the knife and fought her captor's aggressing arm. If she didn't fight back, she would be killed in front of Marius and Enjolras. Her groan of pain became louder as she felt the knife slice through the skin of her palms.

Enjolras bounded forward and gripped Gueulemer's wrist, the five dots of seering pain causing him to let go of his knife. Eponine threw the knife to the ground where it was picked up by Marius, who had pushed the other thief away during Enjolras's move. Marius held the knife defensively in front of him and told the unnamed thief to back away.

Enjolras lunged at Gueulemer, grabbing at a fistful of his cropped hair. His hand slipped, unable to grab the short locks—it was probably the reason the thief cut it so short. Instead, Enjolras lowered his hand to the thief's ear. Enjolras grabbed it and yanked.

Gueulemer yelled and let go of Eponine, causing her to drop to the ground, her eyes on her sticky, red palms. Enjolras pushed him off his feet and kicked him in the ribs. Gueulemer scrambled away on all fours until he gathered the balance to stand on his legs. The thief had not expected the prim and proper blonde man to become a merciless gladiator.

Enjolras loomed over Eponine's crouched body, staring at the two thieves, his chest heaving up and down.

"Leave now if you want your lives to go on," he growled, his eyes blazing.

The two thieves turned and ran. Marius cast the knife aside and went over to the two. Enjolras crouched down, one hand on Eponine's back, his terrible visage now fading back into the charming young man that he was. He gently grasped Eponine's left wrist and pulled it over to him. A red slash stood out on her shaking palm. He felt as if there was a lump of coal in his throat, causing his voice to hitch.

"Marius," he croaked, "go get Combeferre or Joly."


	18. Chapter 18: Walks the Streets So Mean

Chapter 18

**_A/N: I forgot to put this note in the last chapter, but Eponine doesn't know Gavroche is her brother yet. Also, I found the perfect song to describe Eponine's thoughts and opinions upon her and Enjolras's earlier relationship (but I guess it only slightly fits now). It's called "Seventeen" and it's by Marina and the Diamonds, one of my favorite singers. If only I had found it earlier! One more thing: I wrote a modern au oneshot of Enjolras and Eponine, and you can find it on my ff page if you'd like to read it._**

* * *

Enjolras hooked his arm around Eponine's waist and pulled her up to her feet. She had said nothing since she had grabbed the blade of the thief's knife, and that worried Enjolras. Silence from the normally garrulous was always concerning.

"Eponine, say something," he cajoled gently.

Her head whipped to face him. "I fucking told you _Rue de Médicis _was dangerous!"

Enjolras didn't reply; he just exhaled through his nose and reassured Eponine that Combeferre or Joly would be coming soon. Eponine nodded and looked back down at her hands. The left slash was significantly deeper than her right, since her right was towards the base of the knife, not the sharpened tip. Eponine could still work with her right.

The man with the knife had been Gueulemer. He had worked with her father on various occasions. She would have thought that her father told everyone not to be aggressive towards her since she was now a valuable tool of Thenardier's, but then again, her father never really cared about anyone's safety. She brought the pad of her thumb over to the edge of the cut on her left hand and lightly touched it, letting the red bubble of blood welling on the edge spread out into the wrinkles of her relaxed hand. It was as if she were cupping red rubies in her palm. Enjolras pulled her hand away and murmured, "don't touch." His words sounded faint, like he was saying them to her over high wind.

Eponine glanced down and noticed Enjolras's lingering hand on her hipbone. He, too, noticed this is hastily lowered it. Eponine could still feel the warmth from his touch, a thing so rare to achieve from the man.

Marius quickly returned with both Combeferre and Joly, who were wearing extremely concerned expressions. The pain in Eponine's hands instantly lessened at the sight of such caring friends.

"Dear, dear, Eponine, what happened?" Combeferre fussed, examining her palms.

"She fought off a thief," Enjolras told them. "Will she need stitches?"

Joly peered down at Eponine's hands that were cradled by Combeferre's large ones. "Perhaps the left one," Joly mused. "I can tell that one is much deeper."

"We need to get to the _Musain_," Combeferre said. "They have a first aid kit there."

"On my assistance," Joly added, reaching into his coat pocket. Joly's touch did not leave a lasting impact like Enjolras's did. Joly's hand emerged empty and he made a sound of disgust. "I forgot my gauze at home today."

"You normally carry gauze everywhere?" Marius asked in disbelief.

"You can never be too prepared!" Joly protested.

"Alright, let's just get everyone to the _Musain_," Enjolras told the other four. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red handkerchief. Eponine wasn't surprised to see the leader owning only vermillion handkerchiefs. "Eponine, use this to keep the blood from getting on you."

"Oh, your handkerchief is worth more than my dress," Eponine said. "I don't want to stain it—"

"It's red, anyway. I insist," he held the cloth out to her, and she slowly took it from his fingers. She gave him one last expectant look before she pressed it to the wound; he nodded her on.

The walk to the _Musain_ was fairly calm. Marius had strayed off to tell a policeman about the robbery attempt, although in both Eponine and Enjolras's unspoken opinions, the police would be little help. Eponine walked between Joly and Combeferre with Enjolras on Combeferre's right.

They arrived in the _Musain_ to find that Musichetta was not working that day, and it was the owner, Madame Hucheloup. Eponine momentarily forgot her hands and watched Joly's face reveal a smidge of disappointment. Eponine was about to decide whether she found the expression amusing or saddening for his ignorance of Musichetta's other romantic suitor when she was whisked away upstairs to be treated.

Enjolras, seeing Combeferre and Joly rush around Eponine, felt out of place. He saw it superfluous that he was present in the situation, but he could not bring himself to leave…

Combeferre quickly retrieved the first aid kit and pulled out a rag to replace Enjolras's now bloody handkerchief and the bottle of antiseptic, only to find the bottle running low Joly sighed and went downstairs. He promptly received a bottle of vodka, not without having to pay for it, an expense Joly would definitely not have had to make if Musichetta's kind soul had been working. . Eponine gave Enjolras an apologizing look as he pocketed the handkerchief.

"This will have to substitute for sterilizing fluid," he said, holding up the bottle of clear, highly alcoholic liquid. All in attendance nodded as Joly upended the bottle over the rag. "This will hurt, but you must press it into your palms."

"This is not my first cut," Eponine said, sneaking a glance at Enjolras. He felt like her breath dropped a weight on his chest.

The room was silent, like an operation room, with Eponine as the patient and Combeferre and Joly as the doctors and Enjolras as the spectator. This, Enjolras realized, was one of the first instances in the _Café Musain_ that Enjolras had not been the leader among his friends. Eponine's wounds were sanitized at Joly concurred that she would need stitches on her left palm and that the right was just a scrape.

"I must go get my thread and needle from my _garret_," Joly said to them, rising to his feet. Enjolras wrapped an arm around Combeferre's back and led him after Joly. Eponine trailed them with a taciturn eye.

Joly left and Enjolras turned to Combeferre, his voice low. "I need you to go back to the others and tell them to disperse. We don't want any other accidents happening."

Combeferre gave Enjolras an invidious look. "And you stay with the mademoiselle?"

Enjolras quickly understood what he was insinuating. "Look, Eponine needs her captain to stay with her. I'm the one who refused to listen to her, anyway."

"Enjolras admitting blame? Shocking," Comebeferre ruminated aloud. He pulled out an imaginary notebook from behind him and pretended to jot down data in it. "Day 702: Enjolras has finally admits that he needs to listen to others…"

Enjolras exhaled a short breath around the consonant of 't' and turned away. "I shall tell them all you changed your mind," Combeferre said. Even his voice seemed a little reproachful to Enjolras. He _had _heard his argument with Eponine while they walked to the scene of the attack.

Enjolras went back to Eponine, who was still sitting in the top floor of the _Musain_, uncharacteristically in a loud silence that deafened Enjolras. She turned to look at him as he approached, the white rags over her hands now stained brown with old blood. Enjolras wished there was some way to absorb the sting of the alcohol as his own pain.

"Combeferre went back to _Médicis_ to tell everyone they can go home," he said to her.

"This never would have happened had you listened to me!" Eponine replied hotly. "I told you _Rue de Médicis_ was a dangerous place and look what happened!"

Enjolras looked downcast, but said nothing. Eponine hadn't expected him to apologize or admit fault, yet she was disappointed. Many men in her life were disappointing her that day... She turned away from his figure towering over her, lifting the rag off her left hand. It was nearly done bleeding; Joly would be able to stitch it up soon.

"I was wrong."

Eponine whipped her head around to look at Enjolras. "What did you say?" she asked harshly. She mentally reminded herself to soften her tone.

"I was wrong," Enjolras said, balling and unballing his hands. "I should have listened to you, but the sense of authority deafened me to other opinions. And now one of my own is hurt, and the blame is on me."

"Thank you…" Eponine replied after a pause. The air seemed to become lighter in the room, "… for admitting you were wrong."

"It was a foolish decision," Enjolras continued. "I want you to know that I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I will be happy to help."

"I suppose it was a foolish decision by _me_ to grab the knife," Eponine said quietly. Enjolras pulled a chair around so he could sit and hear her better. The dragging of the chair's legs was the only background noise. "I just acted on my first instinct to get away. I wasn't about to let both you and Marius blow your money on me."

"It wouldn't have been 'blowing my money,' Eponine," Enjolras told her adamantly. "It would have been called 'saving your life.'"

"See?" she said, holding up her palms, "didn't need saving. Never have, never will."

Seeing the gashes in her palms sent another tidal wave of guilt washing over Enjolras. She was injured because of his doing. She could have even been killed from his doing.

"Eponine, this should not be taken lightly," Enjolras told her. "You could have died because of me. I can only imagine what I would do if he actually…" He trailed off, his face turning red.

"If you can't handle one injury on your hands, then I have no idea how you expect to lead men into battle," Eponine said. Her last words were swallowed up by the bottle of vodka that she lifted to her lips. As she took a swig, Enjolras looked at her profile that the sunlight trickling in through the _Musain's_ window seemed to make glow. He could see the dark flyaways on her head glisten in the evening light and he could trace the petite curve of her nose, twitching with the strong taste of the alcohol. He wondering if Joly be irritated to find she was drinking the only sterilizing fluid available.

Enjolras felt something drop into the pit of his stomach at her macabre words. She was right, no matter how cynical. The battle would bring death and bloodshed to his men. He needed to be ready. Who would die? Joly? Courfeyrac? Jehan? Combeferre? Enjolras suddenly felt cold despite the stuffy air in the room. "It will all be on my hands," he murmured as he reached forward and grabbed the liquor bottle, letting his lips collide with its mouth and the strong vodka wash over his tongue and down his throat. Fire his throat burned in the drink's wake.

Eponine watched him involuntarily shudder at the alcohol. She could tell he didn't drink much, but she had already guessed that the first time she talked to him. Enjolras shook his head and rolled his tongue over itself. Eponine thought the movement was cute. He was young, and technically, could still be considered a boy. He wasn't ready for this. As much as he tried to hide his youth with a proud stature and serious façade, Enjolras was still just a schoolboy thrust into a revolutionary general's clothes.

She leaned over before she realized what she was doing and rested her hand over his, feeling its warmth over the coolness of the bottle. She saw his shoulders tense up at her touch. The touch was meant to comforting, her smaller fingers gently curling over his, but she perceived that he didn't find any in it. She covered up her blundered by removing the bottle from his slack hand. She poured some of the vodka onto her upturned palm.

She hissed at the stinging pain. Enjolras marveled at her. She was unlike any woman he had ever met. In fact, she was stronger than most men he knew.

Eponine remained looking at the wall when she suddenly spoke, nearly causing Enjolras to jump. "You asked me if you knew that man."

"I did," Enjolras responded. "You don't have to tell. I know you don't like when I pry into your past."

"I used to run cons on _Médicis_ with my family," she said, the beginning of her sentence overlapping with the end of his. "That man in Gueulemer. He would sometimes work with us. I'm not sure if he still does. I stopped thieving the day I met Marius."

"I don't blame you for having a criminal past. The poor have little ways to get food."

"Being on _Médicis_ brought it all back," she said. "Actually, both of the times we fed the poor brought a lot of unpleasant memories back."

She contemplated telling him her whole criminal history. She nearly scoffed at the idea. What would he do when she got to the end? What would he do when he found out he was the main part of the biggest con of her life? She settled on telling him a piece.

"You see," Eponine said, "my parents and I, sometimes my younger siblings, would run a scheme down on _Médicis _where I would pose as the distraction. I, or my sister and I, if she was there, would walk up to men who were alone and show them drawings I had made. I would show them each one, describe who all the cartoons were, distract them, all while my mother and father would quickly walk by and pickpocket them. Every once in a while, a passersby would even buy a drawing off me if I acted cute enough. It was rare, and my father would never let me keep the money for myself. Sometimes we didn't have enough money for paper and I would just be forced to beg them for food or money. When they would hand me money, I would jump up and hug them, my hands roaming in their coat and back pockets for other coins. After they left, I would run the coins over to my father and I would start the act all over again."

Eponine paused and Enjolras was unsure what to say. He didn't need to say anything, for she spoke again.

"I never really felt right doing it," she told him, her face pensive. "I saw it as being… ungrateful, I suppose. Maybe even greedy. These kind souls were already stopping to chat with me or give me a few _sous_, then why wasn't I just taking what they gave me instead of reaching for more? Why couldn't my family steal from the mean people? The murderers and the robbers? Why those who were lighthearted enough to stop and help out a little girl? I voiced these opinions and questions to my father and earned myself a knock on the head. He told me that _I _was the one who was being ungrateful since I was not appreciative of his efforts to feed our family. He said that the nice people were the best targets because they were easy marks. They were easy to steal from, putting themselves out there like that. He also told me that we didn't steal from the mean people of Paris because _were_ the mean people. We were the evil figures that stalked the streets at night, taking money from innocent victims. It didn't make sense to steal from ourselves. This made me very sad. I was the one that parents warned their children about. It was _me _who was the villain in the storybooks. I wasn't the princess I read in the story books. I was the wicked witch who stole and wished evil upon the lovers. I was the evil one." Eponine stopped to take a breath. She hadn't even looked at Enjolras throughout this story. If she had looked at him, she would have seen his face enthralled.

"I stopped reading the storybooks after that," she said. "My father ended up selling them, anyway."

"You're not a bad person, Eponine," Enjolras told her.

Eponine smiled grimly at him. "It didn't feel that way when I was eleven. I didn't feel wonderful at all. In fact, there was one time in late January when I felt like absolute shit. January is the worst month because it's cold, and my family never had sufficient winter coats. It's after Christmas, so people rarely have money to give away to others. It's an all-around bitter month." Enjolras nodded understandingly. She took this as a cue for her to go on. "I remember feeling no better than the scum on the streets. I was cold, tired, hungry. My father had me out begging for coins. He was planning on me luring someone towards a less crowded alleyway and then he was going to bludgeon the mark, taking his coat and money. However, I was so tired and hungry that I couldn't stop crying. The wind was nearly freezing my tears before they would slide over my red, puffy cheeks. My father was growing frustrated with me, yelling, and that was making me cry even harder. He told me, "Stop crying. No one wants to give to an ugly beggar.'"

"You're not ugly," Enjolras said rather suddenly. "Even if you cried, I don't think you could be ugly."

Eponine gaped, the rest of the story frozen in her mouth. That was the first time he'd even mentioned her physical appearance besides nagging her about food or shoes. Frankly, she was speechless. She quickly reminded herself that he was just saying something nice to combat her morose story. After all, he _was _the one-track minded marble lover of liberty, immune to trivial human desires such as physical attraction; why should she take this as meaning that he was attracted to her? She had stopped trying to seduce him long ago after she learned of his chastity; there was no way he could be feeling any desire towards her.

She told herself that Enjolras had simply said she was 'not ugly,' and that was just a comment. He probably meant nothing of it.

Enjolras's mind, however, was simultaneously racing like Eponine's in the silence after his random statement. Why had he just said that? He blamed to vodka for loosening up his tongue and letting such a forward statement slip. He hadn't even processed the words before he was saying them. He had tried for so long to deny this, but he could anymore: Eponine was beautiful. Her mind, body, and soul were all beautiful to him. He had tried to remain indifferent, but he had just let her see a small crack in his marble façade. How hypocritical. What would she think of him now?

Enjolras needn't say anything to cover up his blunder, for both of them turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"I obtained my needle and thread," Joly announced, "I wish I had some better pain killer for you on hand."

Joly was met with two blank stares. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Eponine said, recovering quickly. "I was just telling Enjolras a story."

Enjolras, however, was not so swift. "Yes, and I must bid you two adieu."

He promptly stood up, Eponine hastily retracting the arm that was poised to catch his sleeve.

"Where ever are you going?" Joly asked spinning on his heel to watch the man flee to the stairway. "I assumed you'd stay for the stitches."

"No, I should probably go check on Combeferre and the others," Enjolras said, the words rushing out of his mouth like a stream.

Joly watched him go, concerned. He turned back to Eponine, whose silence he took as not wanting to comment. He inwardly shrugged; he wasn't going to pry; he knew the case of clandestine lovers… or if it were some other issue, but Joly's hypothesis had been formed over the course of several weeks and could confirm that there was, in fact, feelings from one, if not both, side towards the other. Joly's reasoning was leaning towards Enjolras being the one with the romantic feelings, especially after the romantic gesture of buying her food and the way he had subtly let Eponine become a near second in command. He also knew, as a scientific fact, not mere hypothesis, that Enjolras was still trying to feign disinterest in women and thus formed another hypothesis that Enjolras was not handling the situation well.

Joly sat down in the seat previously occupied by the man currently occupying his thoughts. He brushed them away and focused on the girl who was undoubtedly enchanting Enjolras, just as Musichetta had enchanted him.

"Now," he said to her, "this will probably hurt you, but I pride myself on being skilled at such meticulous tasks as these."

"However badly it hurts, monsieur," Eponine said rather cheerfully, "I'm sure I've endured worse."

Joly frowned and wished not to think of the implications of her statement. He, as promised patched her hand up quickly and skillfully. Afterwards, he told her that the stitches could probably be removed- by him, he made sure to tell the independent girl—in a two weeks. He then lightly bandaged each palm.

Eponine stood up and looked at the backs of her hands a one inch, white stripe across the tanned skin of each of them.

"Thank you so much, monsieur Joly," she said.

"My pleasure, mademoiselle," he replied. "Well, it's not my pleasure that you got hurt, but, uh, I mean, I don't mind mending you."

Eponine laughed and once again thanked the bashful medical student for his time.

She walked back to her apartment in deep rumination. Weeks ago, she had vowed that she did not like Enjolras at all, yet when he gave that sudden notion of tender consolation to her, she felt her heart skip a beat. Montparnasse called her pretty all the time, but she never blushed or felt warm. Why did she feel so pleased when Enjolras had merely called her not ugly? She did agree that she certainly did not feel the same now as she did the night she argued her way into their meetings.

She couldn't… no this was a job, she couldn't have any personal stake in this.

She scoffed aloud. She already _had_ personal stake in this. She felt a deep friendship to the _Les Amis._ They were kind for her, and, like on _Rue de Médicis_, she wanted to protect them.

Being a spy certainly did not do that.

It wasn't like she could quit. Her father promised not to make her do any more dirty work after this was over, and she was keeping her apartment. She had originally done this job to seek revenge on Marius and, later, to help Azelma and gain back her trust. Azelma didn't want anything to do with Eponine, and Marius never meant to hurt his friend; it wasn't his fault he was oblivious to her feelings. Eponine also considered the biting hunger that was tearing up her stomach when she had agreed to her father's request. If she ran away from her duties, she would be hungry and homeless. That wasn't exactly new to her…

She could live on the streets again; she could live off of the money she had already saved. Maybe some of the _Les Amis_ would help her with her living situation.

Eponine shook the daydreams away and solemnly established that her father would never let her run. She needed to stop coming up with preposterous daydreams.

_Eponine Thenardier_, she thought to herself as she lay down on her firm mattress that night, _you've dug yourself into a deep hole._


	19. Chapter 19: Endless Night

Something woke Eponine in the night. It wasn't a sound or the sun's morning glow, but it was enough to make her sit up, the bed sheet falling around her waist, and reach for the candlestick she kept near her bed. She was beat to the chase as she heard the scratching of a match being lit.

An orange flame was ignited and revealed the pointed face of Thenardier standing at the foot of her bed. "Hello, Eponine," he said, his eyes gleaming in the lone flame.

"What do you want? Why are you in my bedroom at such an ungodly hour?" Eponine spat.

"I've come to remind you of your duties," he replied.

"I'm still aware that I am a spy."

"Really? It seems not," Thenardier snarled. "You have been withholding information. I can tell."

"I let you crush their demonstration today!" Eponine interjected. Thenardier was like a leech, despicable and gross, sucking information out of her.

"Yes, but we need more," Thenardier said. "When I hired you for this job, I expected more than one piece of information a week. I expected it every few days."

"But we never _did_ establish a routine," Eponine countered. "We just agreed on information, never how often. So I suppose I have the upper hand here—"

"Your chains are still mine," Thenardier spat, pointing a crooked finger at her chest. "I own you, and you will do whatever I say. Now, steal something worthwhile for the police force. Some notes, some plans."

"Enjolras doesn't write things down," she argued. "He remembers everything."

"Oh, so Enjolras is the name of this leader," Thenardier smiled. His yellow teeth were jammed together in his mouth, fighting for space under his pinkish gray gums.

_Merde_, Eponine cursed herself. That was an amateur mistake.

"There are quite a few Enjolras families in Europe," Thenardier said, mostly to himself. "What's his first name?"

"I don't know," Eponine said.

Thenardier's eyes narrowed at her.

"I'm telling the truth!" Eponine insisted. "I don't know any of their full names."

"Then find them out, idiot!" the other spat. "And in the now, tell me something, anything."

Why was he so desperate for information? Barging into her home at this hour?

Eponine quickly racked her brain for something to say. "The one I'm friends with, you know, the auburn one, he's getting married to a bourgeoisie girl."

"Ah yes, the one you used to follow around like a puppy," Eponine felt a shadow of shame hover over her head, "_Heartbreaking_ news for you, I'm sure, but why should you care about him? It's the red coated one you're supposed to be seducing, anyway."

"I gave up on that," Eponine said, and, seeing Thenardier was about to say something, held up a hand. "I've got my own… thing going. But, _père_, let me ask one thing."

Her father sighed. "And what is that?"

There was a short pause where the air was still, but the cogs Eponine's mind were churning hurriedly. "Do not kill any of them. If you see them talking to me, do not shoot or follow them to leave them bleeding in some alleyway."

"Inspector Javert has already informed me that doing such would be severely looked down upon," her father replied. "The government wishes for some to be taken alive, and Javert does not want them killed until they can be proven guilty of treason."

There was a touch of aggravation in his voice that came from an arrogant man being reprimanded by his superiors.

"Why do you care about what happens to these schoolboys anyway?"

"They're kind men once you get to know them," Eponine said slowly, her eyes not on Thenardier and her mind only halfway in the moment as well. She could see the starch whiteness of her hand bandages glowing in the match's light. "They treat me like one of their own. The leader seems cold at first, but once you break through the exterior, he is passionate about helping others and he's honest… he actually cares about me."

"No man has a reason to care for you unless you are sucking his cock," was the harsh reply that quickly reminded Eponine why she repeatedly told herself that she hated her father. Eponine was glad that the dim light did not illuminate the expression of hurt that overtook her face. "What makes him an exception?"

"He's different," she answered quietly, unsure if the man she had the misfortune to call her father was even listening, "he treats women with respect, unlike anyone else I know." She supposed it was her fault for revealing such a tender and fresh realization to such an unforgiving man.

Silence was all she received from her father. She looked passively back up at him, seeing his flickering face fixing its beady gaze on her. One would expect that a father would feel a sense of shame or sadness after being told something like that from his daughter, but Thenardier just jeered at his kin.

"I suppose that can be the secret I give you tonight," Eponine said. "Their leader cares about me."

Thenardier winked at her. "You'll see," he said. "You'll see if he really does care about you when he finds out that you're a little double agent," and, upon seeing Eponine grip her bed sheet and position herself to rise, added, "but not yet, girl. We must wait until he is attained for that giveaway."

Eponine lowered herself back into a sitting position, but her hand remained engulfing the sheets in a chokehold.

"In the meantime," Thenardier said, "use his affections to pull information from him. I'm expecting at least two notes from you per week."

Eponine nodded at her father with a tight jaw.

"Sleep tight," he said, promptly blowing out the candle with puckered, chapped lips.

Eponine was left in a darkness her eyes were not accustomed to. It was heavy and swallowed her up, leaving her sitting in a void until she heard the gentle click of her door closing, indicating her father's departure. She laid her head back upon the pillow, her eyes still not adjusting to the lack of light. She could fix this. She could fix this. She kept telling herself that. She was Eponine Thenardier; she was queen of getting herself out of sticky situations. She would find some loophole and outfox her father and somehow in the process avoid any of the _Les Amis_ finding out that she was a spy. She had to think of something.

Eponine didn't sleep anymore that night. The endless night stretched on, leaving her tossing and turning in her bed, her skin slowly burning with the fire of insomnia and fervent thoughts. She was awake for what seemed to be days until the sun finally started to peek over the tops of the French buildings. Even in the dawn of morning, her mind was preoccupied running various schemes through her head, each one meeting an insurmountable brick wall.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but I really just wanted this to be focused on Eponine and her father. Thanks for reading! Remember to review!**_


	20. Chapter 20: Interweaving

_**A/N: Hello, lovelies! Here is a new chapter for you. I've outlined the barricades scenes, and, oh, I had to decide who lives and who dies and I am emotionally scarred. **_

* * *

As Enjolras got dressed the next morning, his mind perused all the women he had known over his lifetime. He thought of his mother, a suffocating, nosy woman who would never let you have an inch of space to yourself. He thought of his three female cousins, always whispering and snickering at others, so concerned with how they looked. He had met a few women in his early university years that his mother had thrown at him, nearly begging him to find a suitable, conservative wife. Each young woman he had met was superficial, never engaging in conversation that strayed outside the boundaries of common gossip and fashion.

He could only imagine what would happen if Eponine ever came into contact with any of these women. They were all so noble and organized; each outfit, meal, day's event was planned out beforehand. Eponine lived life on the whim; she wore the same dress every day, and she ate irregularly, although Enjolras had noticed that she was beginning to eat more these days. Severe culture clash would occur if the _gamine_ ever set foot near the bourgeois women. It would be the prime of juxtaposition: a ragged girl of the city next to a polished lady of the French countryside. He nearly laughed out loud at the thought of his mother's face as he walked into the grand foyer on their estate, Eponine on his arm.

Would Eponine let him buy her new dresses in the highest styles? He doubted that she would ever let anyone spend the money on her, especially to mold her into the bourgeoisie, despite the fact that once she was up there, she would be the prettiest of them all. She was unpolished silver- full of the potential to be sophisticated, but remaining coarse.

Enjolras felt a sudden surge of anger as he imagined the shallow women sneering at Eponine's lack of money and manners. What would she do in the face of them? Would she spit harsh words over their judgmental whispers? Or would she stand there, head down, as they discussed her? Eponine was brave and had never cowered in front of any human he'd seen her confront, but Enjolras had noticed that she was less vibrant when she was around Musichetta. When Eponine was with the _grisette_, she was much more soft spoken and shy.

Paris was Eponine's canvas, and she ran dripping colors of various bright shades across the plain surface, giving it life and new meaning. She was _Patria_, bold and unafraid and coloring France. She knew the streets and the people, walking amongst them with grace and ease.

And of course, she was unlike any other woman he had ever met.

* * *

Eponine walked into the _Musain_ at dusk the next day. The plan she had finally hatched was flimsy at best, but if she acted extremely careful, then she should be able to achieve her ends. She waved at Musichetta and then walked straight up to the second floor. Enjolras was there, as she expected, staring pensively at a map that was spread out over a table. His back was to her, but Eponine could see his shoulders and torso rigid with tension. His waistcoat, dark gold, was hugging his lean upper body. With each breath he took, the vest was tightened and slowly loosened as he exhaled.

"Hello, Enjolras," Eponine said weakly.

Enjolras was startled as her husky voice plucked him out of his thoughts. His neck snapped around to face her, the rest of his body following closely behind. "Good afternoon, Eponine," Enjolras managed. He had been so caught up in planning he had not heard her on the stairs. "Well, I suppose now it would be evening, since it's past five. So, good evening, Eponine."

Eponine smiled at his slight ramblings, and the smile made Enjolras's stomach churn as if his insides were being twisted with a fork. There was a silence and Enjolras realized he should say something. "How are your palms?"

Eponine glanced down and then held her hands up. "They don't hurt," she said. "At least, the right one doesn't. I haven't used the left hand so it can heal faster."

"Can I see?" Enjolras asked, approaching her. Eponine held her palms out for him the grasp. Enjolras held her callused hands in his and gently ran a thumb over the texture of the bandage on her left, more damaged, palm. He couldn't really see anything through the dressings, and he wondered if the real reason why he asked to see her cuts was so he could hold her hand. Enjolras saw Eponine blink at his touch and he released her, letting his own hands drop to his sides.

"I'm thinking of having the demonstration next Monday," he told her, taking her, or his, attention away from the intimate moment.

"I'm fine with that," Eponine replied. "I can speak then."

"That's great!" Enjolras replied. A smile touched his lips. He seemed genuinely pleased at her participation in the revolution thus far.

_Use his affections to pull information from him_, Thenardier's voice whispered in her mind. Eponine shuddered inwardly at the thought. She didn't _want_ information from him to give to her father. She didn't _want_ Enjolras's affections to be used for information. She wanted to quit this business with her father, but she still needed some information to placate her father until she could figure out a way to do just that.

"We can talk about it when the others arrive," Eponine said.

"There isn't a meeting tonight," Enjolras replied.

Eponine felt embarrassed. What if he thought that she came here to attempt an advance on him? "Oh… I was mistaken," she ended up saying. "I suppose I have the night off then."

She took a step backwards towards the stairs.

"You don't have to go," Enjolras called out to her. "You can… stay. We can discuss the barricades."

He instantly cursed himself. Why would a young, beautiful girl like Eponine waste her Friday night away talking about revolution? To his surprise, Eponine closed to large gap between them, approaching an incredulous Enjolras.

"Barricades?" she echoed.

"We can set them up in the street for revolution. The National Guard won't be able to get past. The people can see them," Enjolras told them.

"Is that what you are showing here?" she inquired, peering around him at the map spread across the table. Images of her flirting with an uncomfortable Enjolras in March were brought to her mind.

"These are possible locations for the barricades," Enjolras readily told her.

That was information he had given her. But she wouldn't tell her father that, no, too crucial to the revolution.

Eponine let her eyes slide over the map, taking in the red beacons of revolution, shining off the dull brown surface of the map like droplets of blood.

"Wow, so this map is all of Paris?" she asked, amazed at the spindly lines strewn all over the brown parchment. The lines crisscrossed each other, running in various directions, looking like the veins on her wrist.

"These are all the streets," she observed, mostly to herself, as she peered down at the white lines.

"For the most part, yes," Enjolras replied. He was nearly astonished at, well, _her_ astonishment at the mere map. "Have you never seen a map before?"

"Not one this great," Eponine replied. "There was one back in the my parents' inn, but it was not detailed like this."

"It's an overview of Paris so I can look for places to build barricades."

"These are the places for the barricades?" she asked, placing her pointer fingers on two of the marks.

"Yes," Enjolras replied.

"This one won't work," Eponine said, tapping her left finger on the map.

"Why is that?" Enjolras asked from behind her. He craned his neck over her tousled brown hair to look at where her thin finger was rapping on the parchment.

"The street's not very narrow, for one thing," Eponine said. "Also, there's a police officer's station a few blocks away that could easily turn into a station for the soldier's to meet at."

"I see," Enjolras said ponderingly, his mind opened to new flaws. "Wait, how do you know about the police station?"

Eponine froze. How _did_ she know that? She couldn't tell him that it was because she was directed there once when she couldn't find her father. "I know Paris better than anybody," she said. "You know me, I know my way around." She gave Enjolras a weak laugh over her shoulder before turning her back to him. She could nearly hear Enjolras's leisurely nod behind her.

"The blockades will be built all around Paris," Enjolras said. "We can have messengers run between each one for communication."

"There are quite a few red dots," Eponine observed. "Who's going to man these barricades?"

"We've been in contact with a few other rebel groups," Enjolras told her. "They're the ones who suggested the barricades idea."

"So we're growing?" Eponine asked, looking up to Enjolras with a smile.

He returned it. "We are."

"So where will _our_ barricade be?"

"Here," Enjolras said, reaching around her and placing the tip of his finger on one of the thin, white lines of the map.

"There? On _Rue Saint-Denis_?" Eponine inquired. He was giving her so much information; it made her nervous. She kept reminding herself that she didn't have to give it to her father if she didn't want to.

She didn't want to.

But she had to.

"Yes," said Enjolras.

"It's fairly far," Eponine said. Enjolras looked at her. She was centimeters away from his face; he could not hide the little flaws that proved that he was in fact not made of marble at all. He could not hide the slight sheen of summer sweat at his hairline near his temples, nor the unshaved stubble dusting his chin and neck, nor the worry lines on his forehead.

"For you, maybe," Eponine added, forcing her gaze back up to meet his blue one, "Me, I'm used to walking."

"Well, it's easy to get there from here," Enjolras said.

"Are you so sure?" Eponine asked dubiously. The map told Eponine that Enjolras had their band travelling through the streets of Paris and over the _Seine _to reach _Rue Saint-Denis_. "Show me."

"Aren't you the one who's supposed to know every corner of Paris?" Enjolras asked with a chuckle. Enjolras guessed that perhaps her inexperience with maps was causing the girl to be disoriented. He reached for her right hand, which was now curled, resting, on the parchment. He wrapped his over hers, holding it like one held the head of a cane, like Montparnasse held the head of his dagger-cane when he had it. He slid her hand down to wear Eponine squinted her eyes to see the curly letters revealing their general location. The paper made a _shh_ as her knuckles ran across it.

"We can easily get there from here," Enjolras murmured to her. She could feel the puffs of his breath on her ear. She wondered what his breath would smell like. Mint? Bread? Tea? Eponine abandoned the thought as she felt his chest press up against her back and he stretched their arms forward.

"Up _Saint-Michel_…" he said softly. His fingers were entwined with hers as he slid their hands up the white line that was _Boulevard de Saint-Michel_. "Through _Boulevard de Sebastopol_… and we're there."

Neither party noticed right away the position they ended up in. Enjolras's body curved over Eponine's like a shell cradling its nut. Eponine was leaning on the table, Enjolras's front pinned against her delicate back. Enjolras was first to notice; Eponine was too absorbed in the interweaving lines of the map.

He was so close to her. He was so near to her profile that he could draw a picture depicting the etchings of her forehead, her nose, her eyelashes, her chin, her lips. The bow of her mouth had slightly fallen open while she looked at the vast overview of Paris in front of her. Her bottom lip curved into a plump pout that took her breath grazing over it for granted. Her pink lips reminded him of the glossy inside of the shells he used to find on the beach as a child, before he started his revolutionary ideas and before his father tried to repress them. The corner of Eponine's mouth was a sharp point of convergence, and Enjolras wondered what it would feel like if his own lips converged against hers there, as well.

Enjolras quickly cleared the distraction away and shifted his gaze off of Eponine's lips so he could look at the map and see other possible sites for barricades or demonstrations or… whatever was needed. He, however, was distracted from his goal again, this time, by Eponine's eyes.

She was looking at him and his close proximity to her. Enjolras looked down his nose at her and she looked right back up at him through sooty eyelashes. She, too, had now noticed how near he was standing to her. This was the closest he had ever stood, and he didn't even seem uncomfortable. She noticed that he had a faint gray smear on his jawbone, probably ink or charcoal. She ached to reach up at wipe it for him, to remove the stain and to feel his unshaved stubble prickle against her fingertips—Montparnasse never had stubble—Eponine wondered what it would feel like, but she felt that a gesture such as that, no matter how platonic, would be unwelcome.

Eponine noticed that Enjolras was still staring at her. They were so close that they could inhale and exhale each other's breath. For some reason, Eponine felt like Enjolras's body was gravitating towards hers. He wouldn't—no. He would never-

"Did you…account for traffic?" Eponine blurted out, taking a step back.

The familiar frown returned to Enjolras's lips. "Traffic?" he echoed.

"On the way to the barricade," Eponine said. "_Saint-Michel_ does get pretty crowded with carriages…"

That must have been why she was silent for so long; she was contemplating over questions she had with his plan, pointing out loose ends, as always.

"I will consider that," Enjolras said tersely. "Nothing is set in stone."

"Will the other revolutionaries be meeting with us now?" she asked.

"You may come into contact with a few of them," Enjolras answered.

More people for her to worry about. Eponine would worry about them finding her out, being killed, blowing the cover of the _Les Amis_.

"What will they say when they find you have a woman in your club?" Eponine asked apprehensively. "They could see it as a sign of weakness." Thinking of other revolutionary groups scoffing at Enjolras for keeping a woman was terrible.

"I will ensure that they say nothing," Enjolras replied.

"Thank you," Eponine said.

"It is no problem," he responded. "You have proven your worth to this group. You're a fairly valuable asset."

She was important to them? She was _worth_ something? That was even worse. Eponine slowly shook her head. Eponine was not worth anything; she was a rat, digging her grubby paws into the secrets of the group and sneaking her way through back alleys to give them to the police.

"I will determine my own worth, monsieur Enjolras," she said humorlessly. With that, she was gone.

* * *

**_Remember to review! They make continuing the story much easier! How is Enjolras's attraction to Eponine dawning on you guys?_**


	21. Chapter 21: Letters Sent, Letters Seen

**_A/N: Thank you for reading this far into the story! _**

**_trigger warning for not exactly consensual sexual activity._**

* * *

Eponine arrived at her apartment and hastily scrawled a note to Thenardier. _There are other groups_, she wrote. That didn't give away too much information and could potentially direct her father's attention elsewhere. She ran a quick breath over the drying ink, then paused. She picked up her quill once more. _One of the other revolutionary groups plans to have a riot on _Rue de Médicis_ tomorrow at 3. _She then folded the letter in half. It was total lie, but she needed her father to be distracted tomorrow.

She folded the letter in half. She didn't have any wax, so she had to just fold it twice over and stick it in her dress pocket. She set out, walking through _Saint-Michel_ and the dangerous district of Paris in the cover of night. She walked past _Café Musain_ and saw its windows glowing in a warm, yellow light. She stopped for a moment and wondered if Enjolras was still in the top floor, working away at the revolution. She found herself smiling. Of course he was. She wanted to stay and see if she could spot him walking past one of the widows, but she had a mission.

She turned onto the _Rue Soufflot._ As she did, she saw some ornate prostitutes loitering at a street corner, their faces powdered white like ghosts and their cheeks rouged red like blood. She recognized them through their makeup as two women she used to be acquainted with, well, before she met Marius.

"Odette," Eponine called.

The prostitute wildly curly bunch of blonde tendrils turned away from a man that was passing by across the street, abandoning her flirting with him. The harlot's puzzled look turned into a sneer as Eponine approached.

"Oh, am I worthy enough for you to speak to me now?" she asked harshly.

"Or have you given up on your show for Marius?" The other, Margot, replied.

Eponine was taken aback. Upon meeting Marius, she _had_ tried to put on a façade of being more elegant and high-born for Marius, a baron. In the process she had taken to ignoring a few of her underworld friends.

"It was rude of me to break off our friendship for a man," Eponine said.

"You can pay us and we'd be your friends again," Margot said. "That's what whores are for, right? To be paid for services?"

Eponine sighed. "Look, have you seen any of the members of _Patron-Minette_?"

Margot and Odette looked at each other before the latter spoke. "It's a Friday night. Any whore in Paris is likely to have seen at least one of them."

Odette _was_ right. One could bet that the young rascals of _Patron-Minette _were each fucking a whore at that very moment.

"I'll keep asking around," Eponine said to them, turning to go. She heard a clucking sound behind her and looked back at the two women.

"A _sou_ for our time?" Odette asked, raising a penciled eyebrow.

"So this wasn't friends giving a friend information?" Eponine asked, reaching into her dress pocket and fishing around for one of her valuable coins. The two whores snickered in response. She dished one out and tossed it to the prostitute. It seemed as if she wouldn't be on good terms with them any time soon.

Eponine continued her meandering through the Parisian streets, thankful for her boots. She was hoping that Montparnasse would somehow find her like he always did at the most arbitrary times, emerging from the shadows drawling some practiced line.

As if on cue, she heard a male voice from behind her. "Didn't your father ever tell you it's dangerous to walk the streets alone at night?"

"My father actually encouraged me to be a streetwalker," Eponine answered, finally stopping in her night search.

"How excellent you would be at that," Montparnasse purred, running his fingers up her spine as he walked from behind to face her. "You know I love those little mewling sounds you make when I lick your—"

"_Enough_," Eponine interrupted, glad that the night hid her reddening cheeks. "I need to give a note to my father." She took out the folded piece of paper, the edges now slightly worn.

"And what do I get in return?" was Montparnasse's reply.

"My eternal gratitude?"

"I think I'd like to be repaid in another currency," Montparnasse said, reaching a hand forward to stroke between her legs.

Eponine jolted back. "Can't we do something else?"

"Eponine," Montparnasse said, looking at her, "it's been… God knows how long since we last fucked. I have needs."

"Get them satisfied with a whore!" Eponine argued.

"You're better than all them! I don't to keep having sex with random women- I want to fuck you!" Montparnasse replied, half yelling. He quieted his tone. "Eponine… I want you. I _need_ you. I love you."

Eponine's mouth fell open at his last three words. They had to be falsities.

"Montparnasse, you do not know what love is," she told him. "You do not love me."

"I favor you over all other women," Montparnasse said. "I care about sexually pleasing you. I think you are beautiful. Is that not love?"

"You are mistaking desire for love," Eponine said. "They're different. If you truly loved me, you would take my letter for free. You would care about my happiness more than yours… you want me, but you don't love me."

"Don't tell me what I'm feeling!" Montparnasse shouted, rushing towards her. Eponine jumped at his voice and rage. She could smell it now, the liquor on his breath. He was not completely intoxicated, but the drink had messed with his mind enough for him to be illogical.

"Okay, okay," Eponine hushed, holding her hands out to quell him.

Montparnasse reached forward, caressing her cheek with a nearly shaking hand. "I love you, Eponine…" he whispered. She was genuinely baffled. Montparnasse showed none of the things she did for Marius. Well, that was because Eponine's love for him was much more genuine and different. "Now, please…"

"I cannot," Eponine said, turning away.

"Why? Because you're seducing that republican dog?"

"No," Eponine answered. "I'm not having sex with him."

Montparnasse exhaled. "Good, good. Eponine, I can't stand any other man touching you like I do…" He reached towards hair and ran a hand over her mane of brown hair stained black in the moonlight.

"Montparnasse," Eponine said. "Can you please pass this letter off to my father? It's important."

"You know that you cannot simply do someone a favor in the slums," Montparnasse told her seriously. "In the underworld of Paris, each creature has to benefit from the relationship somehow."

Eponine knew it was true. No urchin of Paris ever did something out of kindness; there was always an ulterior motive.

"Now, I will be happy to take the letter," Montparnasse said. "But you have to do at least something for me."

Eponine remained silent. It was already getting late, so it was possible that she wouldn't be able to find anyone else to take the letter.

"Come over here," she said, taking Montparnasse's hand and leading him into a narrow alleyway.

* * *

Eponine leaned back on her heels, wiping her mouth and spitting onto the dirty pavement while Montparnasse pulled up his pants. She looked up at him, his body a solid black cutout in the vast expanse of stars above their heads. She was glad the dark hour provided a cover for his body; it had made pretending much easier.

Eponine remained on the ground, slowly running her hands up and down his thighs, drawing more groans from the man in front of her. He ran his fingers through the hair on the top of her head, letting his fingernails scrape against the scalp.

Montparnasse was breathless told her he loved her and Eponine told him he was confused. Montparnasse panted out some half-hearted retort like "shut up," but Eponine could hardly hear his husky reply.

"Where's the letter?"

"Here," Eponine said, pulling it out of her skirt as he heaved her back onto her feet.

Montparnasse took it from her wordlessly and walked off. Eponine was left staring after him in the alley. She felt the heat prickle behind her eyes and the aching feeling grip her throat. She needed to get out of this alleyway.

She strode as fast as she could out of the alley and walked down _Rue Soufflot. _She let out ragged breaths as she tried to calm herself. She felt a sour, acidic taste at the base of her mouth and rushed over to a gutter. She fell to her knees and heaved her stomach's contents onto the street. She coughed, letting more of the liquidy sick splash onto the pile of sewage.

Eponine, now on her hands and knees, sat there for moment, ensuring that she was done vomiting. When she knew that her stomach was free of Montparnasse's seed, she backed up and found refuge against the wall of a building. She felt the cold stone press into her back as she curled her knees against her chest and pressed her forehead to them.

A sob finally escaped her, relieving the burning ache in her throat. Her vision became blurry as tears arose in her eyes. She squinted them shut, causing the hot teardrops to spill down her cheeks. She sat there crying for a few moments, letting her tears run through her and rack her body.

She looked to her left, toward _Le Panthéon_ and sniffled. The building was so ornate and noble, unlike her. She let out another sob. Why was she crying? She wasn't exactly sad. She was upset that she had a man declare twisted love for her and then goad her into sucking him off for him to deliver a measly letter. That was why she was crying—over the position that she had been thrust into in her life. So many lies going into her ears and out her mouth. She hadn't _wanted_ to touch Montparnasse. But she had to. God forbid he thought that the act was a sign of affection from her. She wasn't even attracted to him anymore. He made her feel like scum.

Tomorrow, her father would be in custody of the letter, and things would get more dangerous for her. After tomorrow, things would either ameliorate or worsen.

_This is for_ Les Amis, she thought to herself. The thought caused her tears to subside.

* * *

Eponine wrapped her shawl around her head once more as she slinked through the Saturday street crowds on her way to _the Gorbeau House_. She approached the dull brown façade of the secret police house and slipped into a crack between the building and its neighbor. She knew from experience that the front door was always locked or guarded.

She only had to wait about an hour before she could see a friendly face stroll by on the street.

"Brujon," she called, stepping out of her waylay point.

The herculean sized man looked around at the mention of his name. His face lit up at her appearance. "'Ponine!" he exclaimed. "I so often don't see you."

She stepped up, letting the man kiss her hand. Brujon may have been the size of a war horse, but he had the personality of a poodle.

"I have something to tell you," she said, directing him towards _the Gorbeau House_.

"What is it?" he asked, knocking on the door. It was opened promptly by a suspicious looking guard. He glanced at them, obviously recognizing Brujon and possibly Eponine as her father's daughter.

Eponine stepped into the building, fighting not to smile at her achievement. "Montparnasse is looking for you," she said.

"Is he here?"

"Maybe," she replied. "I would help you look, but I need to speak with my father."

Just as Eponine had suspected, Brujon was not aware that her father was out patrolling _Rue de Médicis_ at this time. "Alright, 'Ponine," he said, splitting off down a hallway, "I'll see you around."

As soon as his back was turned, Eponine glanced around to make sure no one was watching her. The guard was by the door, but he appeared to be examining his cuticles. Eponine could hardly remember the face of the previous servant that had let her in that had known of her treacherous duties, but she guessed that if one knew, others did as well. Therefore, it would not be abnormal for her to go upstairs, where her father's office was.

Eponine turned and bounded up the staircase. When she had reached the upstairs hall was when she actually _did_ care who had seen her. She didn't want her father knowing that she had been upstairs in _the Gorbeau House_ the day his office was broken into.

She walked with her gaze down, attempting to appear natural. As she walked, she passed two men. Unsure whether they were police officers or conspirators with her father, she avoided their eye contact. They appeared to be in deep conversation. Murmuring, footsteps, murmuring, footsteps. Eponine kept her head down.

Each room she passed she could hear noise on the other side. It was hard to believe that once ago, the doors held Thenardier's children's rooms before they had all gotten split apart. Eponine and Azelma shared a room, and the younger boys she could hardly remember all shared rooms, as well. Her parents said that moving to Paris from Montfermeil would make everything better, but it didn't. They became poor in Montfermeil and they remained poor in Paris. The young boys, all ranging between age two and age six when they moved, died of disease in Paris. The city was dirtier than other towns. All perished except the eldest boy, who was lost like one loses a handkerchief before he could turn seven.

Eponine remembered the night he was gone. She was lying in her small bed, clutching Azelma, as they listened to their parents. Her mother was glad he was gone. "One less mouth to feed," she had said. Thenardier still wanted a boy. Then Eponine wasn't sure why, but he didn't want just two daughters. The two girls were quiet as the eavesdropped. Murmuring, footsteps, murmuring, footsteps. A loud shout coming from her father. The sound of glass breaking. Eponine covered her ears.

Eponine brought herself back to the ever-important present as she passed a door. Murmuring, footsteps, murmuring, footsteps. Eponine made sure the footsteps she heard were not hers. She could always step lightly, like a cat, but with her shoes, she had to take extra precaution.

She reached the second to last door on the right. She jiggled the brass doorknob lightly. As she suspected, it was locked. She took a quick glance around the hall to make sure no one was there.

_Eponine, you are so clever_, she thought to herself as she drew Brujon's lock pick out of her pocket. She had made sure to snatch it while he wasn't looking.

After a few minutes of jiggling and jamming the lock pick into the keyhole, Eponine finally got the door to swing open. She was timid about walking into the room; she expected her father to have set up booby traps for whoever walked in when he was out. This room held important things. She craned her head and peered into the room. No spears or paint appeared to be lying in wait to spring upon her the second she walked in, but she couldn't shake the eerie feeling of stepping on a floorboard and having all hell break loose.

Eponine took a few ginger steps inside to find nothing was happening. She decided her father was too stupid to rig his office and relaxed her nerves a little.

Now, she set her mind into gear. She needed to find the spare key to her apartment. Her quick eyes darted around her apartment. If she had a key, where would she hide it? She shuffled through various drawers in the office, making sure to put everything back. She wanted to find other bits of information her father had, but her spare key was top priority. The papers spoke in hushed voices as they were pulled across each other, and the opening and closing of the drawers sounding like footfall. Murmuring, footsteps, murmuring, footsteps. Her father couldn't have the key on his belt… she had never seen him carry a key ring, nor would he have reason to keep it with him all the time.

* * *

"Oh, Montparnasse!" Brujon said, finally finding the thief standing in the back alley of the _Gorbeau House_ having a smoke.

The young dandy turned around, a smoldering cigarette cradled between his lips. The smoke danced into the air, partially obscuring his nonchalant expression.

"There you are," Brujon said.

"Here I am," Montparnasse replied, holding his arms out from his sides and adjusting the cigarette with his tongue.

"So… how are things?" Brujon asked expectantly.

"Just smoking a cig," Montparnasse replied bluntly, leaning his back against the wall. He was trying to pass off the pounding in his head that was his souvenir from the night before. He had taken to a bottle of whiskey, and played around with Eponine. He remembered telling her he loved her and didn't want her with anyone else- the rest was hardly a memory. "Why are you out here?"

"Eponine said you were looking for me."The heat from the cigarette smoke in addition to the hot day was nearly making Brujon melt inside his shabby clothes. He wiped his brow with his sleeve.

"When?" Montparnasse's brow creased. Now he was interested in the conversation."Eponine was talking about me?" Montparnasse nearly smirked—of course she was.

"Just now," Brujon said. "When I arrived here she told me."

"Why would Eponine be here?" he wondered aloud. Her father was out on her request. She could be stopping by to speak to Javert, but Montparnasse wasn't sure if he was even in the house; he always avoided the parts of the house that entertained the _other_ side of Thenardier. A brief thought flashed through his head of her looking for him, but he knew it wasn't true.

"I dunno. She walked in with me and said that you were looking for me," Brujon said. "That's all I know."

"Eponine's in the house?" Montparnasse asked in a sudden and alarmed fashion. He peeled himself off the wall and stood facing Brujon.

"Yes?" The man's answer had a touch of uneasiness in it. He regarded Montparnasse with glowing eyes. The man was much smaller than Brujon's hulking frame, but the juggernaut still didn't want to fight him.

To Brujon's relief, Montparnasse was not aggressive—towards him at least. Brujon could only guess what he was thinking about Eponine. He always knew their relationship was never exactly stable.

Montparnasse pushed passed Brujon and entered the _Gorbeau House_, throwing his half-finished cigarette onto the ground, where it the glow slowly died.

* * *

"Aha!" Eponine nearly shouted aloud as she found the black skeleton key identical to hers in the back of the bottom drawer in her father's desk. Her short delight was lost as her eyes zoomed into a letter that was also in her father's bottom drawer.

She picked it up. It looked like Enjolras's handwriting… Perhaps it isn't, Eponine second-guessed herself, much cursive looks alike.

_Dear General Lamarque, _the letter read, _I am a student of the upper class attending a university in Paris. I lived in a town on the outer edge of France my entire life, and the atmosphere in Paris is much different, from the sights right down to the dialect. Being in Paris as called my attention to the plight of the lower class, whom I have seen starving on the streets since the day I arrived off my train-_

That was as far as Eponine got, for she heard someone approaching. Murmuring, footsteps, murmuring, footsteps. Eponine jumped and stood up, dropping the letter back into its place. She couldn't leave the room and run—the door was at a dead end. If she listened, she would hear the hurried whispers growing louder.

Eponine's head whipped around. What was she to do? She had to find a hiding space. She bounded as quickly as she could without being loud to the door, where she locked it. She ducked down to her knees and began to crawl under the desk. Hastily, she put the key back where she found it.

* * *

Montparnasse unlocked the door and pushed it open, the air from the opening door rushing through the room and causing some of the papers scattered of Thenardier's desk to flutter in place. He glanced around before stepping in. The room was seemingly empty.

"I don't see why—" Brujon began to say.

"Shh," Montparnasse hissed, holding up a silencing hand. His hears were listening hard for a sound of heavy breathing of prey about to be caught.

Why else would Eponine be in the house if it were to not be in her father's office? Montparnasse opened the small closet and pushed aside a few of the coats that were inside. He looked along the bottom of the small storage area to find no trace of someone hiding.

"Keep watch," Montparnasse told Brujon, who remained by the door.

Montparnasse walked over to the desk. He quickly pulled the creaky chair out from under it and tilted his neck to glance underneath. He could not make out the quivering shadow of a crouched girl.

Eponine fought to ignore the burning in her muscles. Every part of her body screamed at her to drop herself the one and a half feet that she hovered above the ground. Eponine was holding herself into the space where one's legs would go if they were sitting in the desk. Her arms were pressing against one side and her feet were against the other set of drawers. She didn't know how much longer she could remain like that.

Montparnasse pushed the chair back under the desk, and Eponine choked back a wince that came from it jabbing her in the side. If he stayed longer, she would have to slowly shift her weight onto the chair.

Montparnasse gave the room one last survey. He rarely saw it, but no papers were shuffled, and the lock wasn't broken. Perhaps Eponine either hadn't come yet or had already passed through. She was a fast girl, so he bet on the latter.

"Let's go," he said to Brujon.

He walked to the doorway, but held up a hand as Brujon started to close the door. He stared at the room, hoping Eponine would magically emerge from thin air, thinking they were gone.

He reached forward himself and closed the door. Eponine sighed and slowly lowered herself onto the ground. Her muscles were aching and she knew she would regret that in the morning.

Eponine strained her ears to hear what Montparnasse was saying to Brujon as he walked down the hallway. "…check other parts," she heard, but that was it. She took that as her cue to get out of there as fast as she could. She emerged from under the desk and retrained the key to her apartment. Hopefully her father would not be looking for it soon. She remembered the letter to General Lamarque and deeply wanted to finish reading it.

However, time was of the essence and she quickly opened the drawer and flipped to the back page. As expected, Enjolras's name was written in swirling letters at the bottom. Eponine found herself smiling at his signature. She'd never seen it before, and she traced the small and large loop of the 'E' with her finger. His penmanship was short, yet flowing.

How did Thenardier get the letter in the first place? Did this General Lamarque give it to him? Did Enjolras naively give it to the police? How much did Eponine's father have that she didn't? Eponine quickly went downstairs and exited the _Gorbeau House_, her head swimming with more questions than answers.

* * *

_**A/N: Thank you sooooo much for reading! This chapter was hard to write, but it sets the ball rolling for some new plot points: Montparnasse, Gen. Lamarque, her father's information, etc. **_

_**Please please with a cherry on top, review! I read every review at least twice haha! And if you have any questions or concerns, don't hesitate to ask. I am happy to PM you the answers.**_


	22. Chapter 22: His Patria

_**A/N: This chapter's pretty long. I bid you Godspeed on your journey.**_

* * *

"But, Enjolras, I've sent various letters to the members of Parliament, and I have yet to get a reply- let alone a positive one," Combeferre argued.

"General Lamarque has replied to me," Enjolras said. "He agrees that the poor need more aid than the rest of the upper class is willing to give them."

"Well, is he going to do anything about it?" Courfeyrac asked. "Agreeing something needs to be done and actually doing it are two different things."

"He agrees that Louis Phillipe's regime is doing nothing for human rights and liberty," Enjolras told the two men on the second floor of the Musain.

"But what will he do about it?" Courfeyrac asked once more.

"He's doing his best to speak to Parliament about it, and in the meantime, he's been visiting the ill in hospitals," Enjolras said. "As you know, the cholera epidemic has been spreading."

"Joly and I plan to accompany him and perhaps get him on our side," Combeferre said.

"He already is on our side," Enjolras replied.

"He could do a little more to help out," Combeferre muttered quietly.

"I think the chief concern right now is how we are going to spread the news of student resistance," Courfeyrac said, leaning forward to make his point seem more urgent. "Enjolras, I know you've been writing to various newspapers, yes?"

"Correct," Enjolras said, nodding. "I've been attempting to spread the word to those who are literate, and the demonstration tomorrow will reach those who aren't."

"I'm opening the demonstration, right?" Courfeyrac asked, a touch of intimidation in his voice.

"Yes," Enjolras said. "You start, I speak in the middle, and Eponine will finish."

"Will she remember her speech?" Courfeyrac asked judgmentally.

"Eponine's a smart girl," Combeferre shot back. "I'm sure she can remember a one minute speech. Just because she's uneducated doesn't mean she's dumb."

"I wasn't implying that," Courfeyrac told his friend. "I felt like it was worth mentioning that she has never given a speech before, as far as we know. Enjolras, are you sure you want her first time to be in front of a crowd of strangers at our first demonstration?"

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre, who seemed to be staring him down for his answer. "Yes," he said. "I have faith in her."

"A good leader shows faith in his cohorts," Combeferre stated.

"Alright, it's just…" Courfeyrac trailed off, the look of a lengthy withheld story on his lips.

"What? Go on." Enjolras prodded with a frown.

"During the first demonstration, or before we went to _Rue de Médicis_, she seemed to… nonchalant," Courfeyrac told his two friends.

"You're suspicious because she wasn't worried about public speaking?" Combeferre said. "Not everyone has anxiety like you, Courf." He was immediately silenced by a glare from both accompanying parties.

"No, she just seemed like she knew something," Courfeyrac said, and, seeing Enjolras dubious frown, added, "I didn't notice anything strange until after I dwelled on it."

"You mean after you went home and tried to find flaws in one of the Les Amis?" was the harsh reply.

"Enjolras, you don't need to get so aggressive," Courfeyrac replied. "Do you not find it odd that Eponine came in here with Marius and only recently expressed interest in our cause and has now weaseled her way up the scale to be speaking at our first demonstration?"

"So, she finally gained the courage to step up," Enjolras said.

"I'm saying she might have an ulterior motive," Courfeyrac replied. "I mean, do you truly believe she's with us?"

"We need to stick together," Enjolras argued. At the same time Combeferre blurted "She cut her hands over us," and Enjolras only glanced at him before continuing. "United we stand, divided we fall. We can't be distrusting of each other because that's not what Amis are."

You're blinded by your trust of her, Courfeyrac mentally shot at Enjolras, but he couldn't find himself to say it out loud. He was almost angry at Enjolras for letting his mind be influenced so heavily by her. Enjolras was supposed to be the one who was only thinking about the revolution. He was supposed to be the one who wouldn't let anything get in the way. Courfeyrac reminded himself that Eponine necessarily hadn't done anything to get in the way of the revolution, and that he was just wrapped up in theories.

"You're right," Courfeyrac said. "We do need to stay together."_ Maybe I should spend some bonding time with Eponine and see who she really is._

* * *

Eponine felt like she was drowning in the sea of people that had flocked around where Enjolras was standing on a small stack of boards used to resemble a stage. The petite girl could hardly see, even from the third row, but she had no trouble hearing Enjolras's penetrant voice. He was speaking passionately in his vermillion jacket—his classic patriotic symbol. From Eponine's obscured point of view, Enjolras's jacket looked almost like an army commander's with its brass buttons marching up the front. She supposed that was his intention—to look like an army commander leading the people to liberty.

"You've seen the effect the corrupt government has on its people, furthermore, you're living it!" he said. "You cannot sit in silence any longer. The government has obviously turned a blind eye to your starving faces, but they cannot make themselves deaf! You have spent an eternity in silence for fear of saying something wrong, but now it is time to speak out. They may be able to turn their heads, but they cannot turn of their ears."

Eponine craned her head in her struggle to see the faces of those listening to his fervent speech. Her height only permitted her to see those directly around her, but they—even the Les Amis, who had heard speeches similar to this various times—seemed awed and excited by Enjolras's words. _Of course they are,_ Eponine smiled at Enjolras's triumphant face. He was on fire today, and Eponine hoped she would not get burned in his path when she gave her speech.

Before she knew it, it was her time to stand in the heat of revolution. The crowd was cheering Enjolras on as he was standing there, his fist raised triumphantly in the arm. His chest heaved up and down, his mouth in an open smile to allow more air to pass through. He looked like the god Apollo, standing under the glory of the sun he controlled.

Eponine felt Courfeyrac's hands guide her up onto the stage. Enjolras's palm reached out and pulled her alongside him. He backed up, letting Eponine have center stage. She looked out at the sea of faces, all staring at her. Suddenly, her shabby dress did not seem to be enough compared to Enjolras's clean-cut outfit. She was relieved to see none of Patron-Minette or the police force. Still, that smidge of relief was overshadowed by her anxiety of her speech.

She gripped it in her hands, thankful that Enjolras, after seeing her nearly reduced to tears after trying to recite it for him, let her carry it up there for reference. She normally would feel ashamed for admitting defeat and asking for help, but the dent in her pride hadn't matter when she was obviously unready.

"The government quashes its people under a chain like, like dogs on a leash," Eponine stammered, attempting and failing to make her voice loud and powerful, "We do not have to bear the weight of their metal—_the_ metal of their chains any longer."

Enjolras had to say that he was dismayed. Eponine, though he was aware of her nervousness, was not proving to be the _Patria_ he imagined. She was so fiery and spunky when she spoke during the meetings, and now on stage, it appeared her fire had been snuffed out. He understood that not everyone was blessed as he with the skill of orating, but he had expected Eponine to do better than _this_.

"The people of France are unprivileged and taken advantage of by the Parliament and Louis Phillipe," Eponine stated. She glanced down at her note card. What was she doing? These weren't her words. That's why she wasn't connecting with them. They were the words of Enjolras, who did not fully know the pain of being a street urchin. Eponine did. She could communicate the urgency of the revolution to the poor. She could, and she would.

She looked up at the crowd with a newfound vigor. "Enjolras said that the poor had been stuck in silence. It's true. We think our words do not matter, but they do. I didn't think that my opinions were important… meeting the _Les Amis de l'ABC_ showed me that they did. I said something and they actually _listened_," Enjolras perked up. This wasn't his speech. The light of Eponine was becoming aglow again, radiating from her words. "Unlike Louis Phillipe, they listen and they don't discriminate. They will listen to you. They will show you that you have rights. They've helped me, and they can help you, too.

"You need them, and they need you. We can't defeat the monarchy separately; we must do it together. They can try to stop us, try to muffle our voices and drown us out with their National Guard and loud hailers. But when you've got a hundred voices shouting, who can hear a single loud hailer?"

The crowd erupted into applause. Eponine stood for a moment, impressed with everything: her courage, her words, the reaction, the demonstration. Enjolras smiled. This was exactly what he wanted: the people excited and hopeful, looking up at a bold _Patria_. Enjolras and Courfeyrac walked to the front of the stage to bow with Eponine. The cheering increased.

Enjolras glanced at Eponine, feeling a warmth start to spread from his chest. He had helped her; he had lifted her up, made something of her other than the meek girl sulking behind Marius all the time. This was what his revolution was about.

For the first time, Enjolras felt like the _Les Amis_ had a true connection with the people. Enjolras didn't feel alone. They were supported. They were entering a new stage of their revolution and it was dawning over the horizon, bathing them in light.

* * *

Enjolras struggled to speak over the raucous chatter of everyone that had packed into the upper level of the _Musain_. The faces of the _Les Amis_ were flushed the warmth of body heat and cheeriness brought on from the alcohol. Even Enjolras was holding a mug of ale to celebrate their victory.

"Everyone!" Enjolras shouting, unable to find himself irritated with the uncontrollable babbling stemmed from triumph.

"Students, workers, everyone!" Enjolras announced, knocking a knuckle on the table. "I would like to make a toast to our political victory today. We proved that can connect with the lower class and convince them to join our ranks! First of all, I would like to thank all of you for being there today. Especially those who spoke. Courfeyrac, thank you for explaining the vision we have for future France, and Eponine," the girl felt a slight blush creep up on her neck as all eyes, including Enjolras's, shifted to her, "thank you for agreeing to speak, let alone get the crowd to see how you've grown since meeting us in the best improvisational speech I've heard in months! A toast to the _Les Amis_ and a toast to _Patria_!"

Everyone raised their glasses and Eponine let the alcohol burn its way down her throat.

"Eponine, truly, truly, you were a stunning image of _Patria_ today," Combeferre told Eponine, glancing at Courfeyrac.

"Thank you," Eponine replied.

"You're words said _Patria_, but your outfit didn't," Musichetta said, moving away from Joly's outstretched arm.

"It's not like I can afford a better dress," Eponine said defensively, glancing down at her bleak chemise.

"I know," Musichetta said. "Your dress needs to match the beauty of your words. That's why you need to come with me."

"What—" Eponine's question was chopped as Musichetta grabbed her by the hands and pulled her away from the table of men.

"Musichetta, what are you doing?" Joly asked. Eponine wondered why Bossuet was not also clinging onto the beautiful woman and realized that he was not in the room. Even when the other lover was not around, Musichetta tried to distance herself from Joly in public.

"Eponine and I are venturing to my _garret_," Musichetta announced. "We will be back in haste."

"Surely you two ladies should not go alone," Joly insisted.

"The streets are dangerous this late," Enjolras added, feeling bewildered having only just heard of his _Patria's_ sudden departure.

"I have _Patria_ to shelter me, monsieur," Musichetta replied cheekily.

Enjolras shot a questioning look at Eponine, who just shrugged her shoulders.

* * *

"So, Musichetta, what exactly are we doing?" Eponine asked, glancing around for Montparnasse. It was the time and place for him to be appearing.

"Don't worry," Musichetta said, noticing her apprehensive monitoring of the street, "my apartment is just down the way. And we're going to give you a makeover."

"But, Mus, I can't afford anything," Eponine insisted.

"Which is why I'm giving you one of my old dresses," Musichetta replied. "And I know just the one!"

Musichetta wasn't lying about the close proximity of her apartment to _Café Musain_. She was on the first floor, indicating higher wealth, so the trip was very short. Before Eponine knew it, she was standing inside Musichetta's elegantly decorated apartment.

The living room had a brick fire place with a shining brass mantle, displaying a rococo style clock that gleamed with the time of one a.m. A settee of a gorgeous pink silk sat in the middle of the room, the dark wood on the top carved in scallops and swirls common the rococo style once again. The entire room seemed like it was a dressed down version of Versailles, or at least it resembled the drawing of the palace that Eponine used to look at in her father's books.

"Did you decorate this place?" Eponine called, raising her voice to reach Musichetta, who had run off to the bedroom.

"Joly and I did," Musichetta replied. "We went to the shops around Paris looking for baroque style furniture. Joly knows I love it so."

"This is a really nice apartment," Eponine said. "Does Bossuet every wonder how you afford it?"

"I tell him that an old lover paid for it," her voice answered. "He doesn't seem to mind that I've been with other men."

"That's good," Eponine replied, running her hand over a beautiful art easel with a blank canvas on it. "If men have been with other women, it should not matter if the women have been with other men."

"You have a philosophical mind, Eponine," Musichetta laughed, emerging from her bedroom with a deep red dress draped over her arm.

"Is that it?"

"Mhmm," Musichetta chirped. "It's the color of the revolution, if you didn't notice."

"I did notice," Eponine said, peering down at the red garment.

"I stopped wearing it once Enjolras started wearing his red coat," Musichetta said. "I didn't want him to associate me with _Patria_. You, however, already are, so this dress seems fitting."

"I suppose," Eponine trailed off as Musichetta held it up. It looked fairly middle class, a step above her, and luckily, not incredibly bourgeois. It was deep red, not the color of streetwalkers, but a shade above the color of wine. "Musichetta, I will look ridiculous in this. I'm used to wearing my plain dress."

"Which is technically an undergarment," Musichetta replied. "In fact, you can just slip this over it after you remove that men's belt."

Much to Eponine's chagrin, Musichetta ended up forcing the dress over Eponine's head, making her feel like child being dressed by its mother. Eponine's breath hitched as Musichetta gave the back laces a tug. "These needn't be too tight," Musichetta said. "You have a fine, small waist naturally."

_These aren't 'too tight?'_

Eponine looked down at the sleeves of the dress. They were straight until they reached the elbows, pushing out like ridiculous balloons. "Hmm," Eponine hummed as gripped one and tugged.

"Eponine!" Musichetta shouted over the sound of ripping fabric. "Why did you rip of sleeve?!"

"I don't like the puffy part," Eponine said, doing it to the other with a hissing sound of breaking thread. "I don't want to look like I'm carrying clouds on my forearms."

"But that's the style," Musichetta started to complain.

"I don't have to conform," Eponine said, her voice raising an octave as Musichetta grabbed her waist.

Musichetta spun Eponine around to face the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. She was at first taken aback by the woman in front of her. She was… pretty. The dark red fabric gave her skin a healthy glow and the corset gave her body shape. The dress reached an inch above the ground, showing Eponine's black boots. The now three-fourths sleeves provided more cover than the skimpy chemise, but would keep her from getting too hot in the late April-early May heat.

"I like it," Eponine smiled. Feeling tears prick the back of her eyes.

"You look beautiful," Musichetta replied, moving behind Eponine and scraping some of her hair back into a tortoise shell clip. "Don't cry!"

Eponine blamed her watery eyes on her sensitive scalp, and Musichetta lightened her grip on Eponine's hair. Eponine now looked like an almost different person. Her front pieces of hair were pulled back, allowing the curlier back tendrils to tumble down onto her shoulders. What would Marius say when he saw Eponine, for once, not looking like a street urchin?

"What will Enjolras say when he sees you so done up?" Musichetta wondered aloud.

Eponine turned around to face her. Of course, this was about Enjolras and making her look like _Patria_.

"This will be too forward," Eponine suddenly said, moving her hands behind her to try to untie the laces. "Red is too bright. It will seem as if I'm trying to impress him."

"Eponine, no!" Musichetta cried. "This is exactly what we want. You need to look like _Patria_. It will help get the people on our side, them seeing you sully and then improved."

Eponine stopped her flurry of movement. If it was to help the revolution, this she supposed it was better. Still, she was embarrassed at the thought of walking into the _Musain_ and unveiling her new look.

"All of them will be there," she murmured.

"Are you bashful?" Musichetta asked. Eponine nodded. The bigger of the two women took the tiny girl's hands in hers, "Eponine, you are beautiful. You need to show people that."

"I don't need them to think I'm beautiful," Eponine replied. "I just need them to think I'm smart."

"Intelligence is not inverse to beauty," Musichetta replied. "You can be pretty _and_ smart."

"I don't know…" Eponine trailed off, avoiding Musichetta's green eyes.

"Well, I'm giving you this dress," she said. "You can walk around in whatever you wore before, or you can walk around properly dressed. I suppose it's your choice."

Eponine turned and look at the gold encrusted mirror. She knew that Musichetta was trying to guilt her into accepting the gift.

The dress _did_ look nice. It was a little showy, unlike the conservative wool one Cosette wore. The wide neckline created an olive toned semicircle of her exposed neck and chest and the two vertical lines of her collarbones. Despite being fairly low cut, it still covered more than the old, white chemise. However, the corset was pushing Eponine's bust upwards, making her think of Odette and Margot a few nights ago. The wantons of the night… Eponine wasn't one. She may have… done things with Montparnasse, but she wasn't a whore.

"I'm only wearing it if I can take the corset off," Eponine stated.

"Oh, alright," Musichetta said. "You can wear the belt instead."

Musichetta untied Eponine's corset while Eponine wore a triumphant smirk. She went over to the table to retrieve Eponine's dark, leather belt, where she had cast it off in the whirlwind of dressing Eponine. She put the corset in its place.

Contrary to Musichetta's wants, Eponine decided that the red dress looked much better when her thick leather belt was wrapped familiarly around her waist. Also, her cleavage was less prominent. Now, Eponine felt that she looked both pretty and smart, and definitely more confident.

"Now will you accept this new look?" Musichetta asked, a touch of exasperation from not getting her way in her voice.

"Yes," Eponine smiled, not taking her eyes off her shapely reflection. "I think I'll wear this."

* * *

Enjolras glanced at his pocket watch. Musichetta said they would be back quickly, yet over thirty minutes had gone by, and the two women were nowhere to be seen. Enjolras tried to continue his celebration, but his mind was distracted with frightening images of what could be keeping the young ladies.

"Enjolras, have another drink," Grantaire said, mindlessly pushing a mug toward him while taking a swig of his. "Savor the taste of delusional success."

"No, 'R, one's fine for me," Enjolras replied, mirthlessly, hardly listening to the cynic's words.

"Pansy," Grantaire said, taking it for himself.

Enjolras scoffed at him and stood up to walk over to Joly, who had been sitting with Bossuet, Feuilly, and Combeferre although the hypochondriac was not participating in their conversation.

"Don't you think they should be back by now?" he murmured.

Joly's head shot up, surprised at the voice in his ear. "I was just thinking about it. Musichetta doesn't live far away—"

An abrupt decrease in chatter distracted the two from their budding conversation. Enjolras turned, his frown disappearing when he saw Eponine and Musichetta standing at the entrance of the room.

Musichetta had apparently taken Eponine and changed her from her dirty clothing into a much more fitting dress. Instead of the tangled knotting Eponine's hair, there was an elegant half-do, and instead of dirt smudging her cheeks, there was a blush brought on from attention.

"I present, _Patria_," Musichetta said.

Eponine's cheeks dimpled as she fought a smile and rolled her eyes. "Musichetta thought it would be nice to give her an old dress."

Enjolras let his eyes take in the new, erudite look. The red dress wasn't the Eponine he imagined, but it was the one she was becoming as he got to know her more. The red dress… she just looked so much more well-fed, and happy, and fresh, and stunning.

Grantaire strolled over and kissed her hand. "Nice to meet you, mademoiselle _Patria_."

Eponine's cheeks reddened more. She seemed overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. Enjolras wondered if she had ever gotten a new dress before, or if she just scraped up what she could from garbage cans.

"Now, everyone, stop staring," Grantaire said, seeing that Enjolras didn't appear interested. "She's a person, not a piece of art."

Grantaire's words, surprisingly, worked, and the _Les Amis_ slowly went back to what they were originally doing. Enjolras, too, looked away, but the image of Eponine was still burning hot in his mind. The red was the color of _révolution_, the reds of the clouds in a world about to dawn. Eponine, too, was dawning; she was growing more and more beautiful every day. She was no longer the wallflower that sulked in the back of the meetings; she was a rose, the center of attention. Unfortunately, this attention could not be given by Enjolras. He had to focus on leading the revolution and had to step back and let one of the other _Les Amis_ sweep in and take her hand. The thought was unpleasant, but she wasn't for him. _Not for me_, he told himself.

He then tried to engage Joly in a conversation about the cholera outbreak among the homeless. Musichetta started walking towards the table where Enjolras was standing, having been talking to Joly. _Oh God, why is she bringing her over here? _Enjolras quickly realized that it was because Musichetta and Joly, he had long suspected, were having an affair, and Eponine, awkward and clinging to Musichetta, was just following her. Enjolras supposed that she wasn't used to having men take a second glance, let alone stare, at her.

"You look really nice, Eponine," Combeferre said. "No one deserves to wear clothes like you wore before."

Eponine smiled and thanked him. Something about the way Combeferre was affectionately looking at her made his blood simmer. He quickly shook the feeling away, reminding himself that she wasn't his to lose.

"Enjolras, do _you_ like her new dress?" Musichetta asked. "It's supposed to be a symbol of the revolution. Kind of like your jacket."

He let his eyes sweep over her once more and nodded. "Red. It's a good color," he then turned back to Joly in an attempt to engage the man in the talk of illness. He missed the flash of forlornness in Eponine's eyes.

"Do you think Lamarque would be able to issue a statement about his efforts to help the ill and possibly mention _Les Amis_ in it?" Enjolras asked Joly.

Joly took a breath, but instead of looking to Enjolras, he looked at Musichetta. "Mus, do you think I could walk you home tonight?"

Enjolras sighed. Apparently Marius wasn't the only one hopelessly in love. Speaking of which, Enjolras glanced around and saw the boy talking the girl that Enjolras had simply once called his "shadow." Enjolras took a breath. Everyone here was more drunk that he was willing to get. He thought it best to leave now to avoid one of the _Les Amis_ latching himself onto Enjolras on his way home and then forcing him to nurse the morning's hangover. This simply wasn't the place for Enjolras right now. He needed to regroup after the long day's events in the comfort of his _garret_.

Wordlessly, he left his nearly empty mug of ale abandoned on the table and stalked away from the cheerful group. He stepped off the bottom foot of the stairs and was startled by a hand catching his arm.

"Grantaire," Enjolras panted. "What are you doing down here?"

Grantaire was silent for a moment, configuring how to tell Enjolras that seeing the faces of his friends so hopeful and joyous killed him. He knew that the revolution's chance at succeeding was a longshot, and he could only tolerate so much of himself standing idly about while seeing them march unknowingly into their dark fates. "A cynic like me can't be around too much happiness," he ended up saying.

"Of course," Enjolras replied.

"Do you like Eponine's dress?" Grantaire persisted, stopping Enjolras from continuing towards the door.

"Very patriotic," Enjolras stated curtly.

"You _do_ think she looks beautiful, right?" Grantaire asked. His dark green eyes stared into Enjolras's. Grantaire leaned a little closer, obscuring Enjolras's view of the door. He knew Enjolras could probably smell the brandy on his breath. "Fit for a good husband now?"

Enjolras looked at him a moment. "I said she looks nice, alright?"

"You said the _dress_ looks nice."

"Fine, a nice woman in a nice dress," Enjolras snapped, rather rudely pushing the drunk off of him and striding out the door.

_I just want you to see something else… _Grantaire thought sullenly to himself as he turned away from the door. He was going to drink himself numb tonight.

* * *

**_A/N: Pleeeaaasseeee review. It makes continuing this story much easier. Its harder than it looks :)_**


	23. Chapter 23: Starcrossed

**_A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter._**

* * *

Enjolras lay in his large bed that night, thousands of thoughts running through his head like the gamins in the slums of Paris. Each one stayed for a while, then left after Enjolras refused to feed it. They all concerned one thing: Eponine. Enjolras had long ago sworn himself off women after he finally got away from the women of his hometown when he got to university. It wasn't like he was missing out on anything; his life had shown improvements after his unwritten vow of chastity. His marks were high and his finances were stable.

Previously, politics were the only crop in his field of mind, practical. Now, a small rose was budding in the corner of his mind, beautiful and distracting. It drew his attention away from the current harvest. Enjolras supposed a rose was the perfect flower to represent Eponine; they were pretty to look at, but covered in thorns that could prick one's fingers if they got too close.

Distant laughter and shouts could be heard on the street below, just outside his window. The tones of voice sounded lighthearted, slipping into Enjolras's room through his cracked window. The air was too stagnant this time of year. Enjolras turned his back to the window and shut his eyes. Perhaps he needed to pull away, build a fence around the rose and never look at it again… It would be a sad occasion in which he wouldn't be able to admire the beauty, but he would have the rest of the garden to tend to. He could keep himself busy.

Oh, he would miss the sweet scent of that lovely rose. _Maybe,_ his mind decided as it slipped into the haze of Morpheus's heavy embrace, _maybe, I can just talk to her if it's about revolution._

* * *

Eponine turned her face towards the pale moonlight that leaked in through the sheer white curtains, painting everything cool colors of blue and purples, instantly making her skin feel less on fire. Her left hand slowly crept beside her to grab a handful of her blanket.

She lay eagle-spread on her mattress, the untidy bundle of covers just obscuring the right side of her body. Turning her head to the side, she could see her red dress, folded on the ground where she could slip it over her chemise in the morning. The moonlight hardly colored it, making it the darkest red she could imagine. It was the color she saw a man bleed after Montparnasse stabbed him so deep that she knew he wouldn't survive it. In the day, it was the flush color of a new world.

She attempted to close her eyes and force herself into sleep. She could hardly ever go straight to sleep anymore. Eponine settled with counting the people she was filling with lies at the moment. _Enjolras, Combeferre, Montparnasse… _She had gotten up to thirteen before finally quitting and dozing off.

* * *

Enjolras let out a low growl as he walked into the _Musain_. Eponine was sitting there, innocently talking to Musichetta and Joly in her brilliant red dress. He had scheduled a meeting with whichever _Les Amis_ could make it today to discuss the only politicians that were not completely opposed to their side. He saw that he and Joly were the only two there at the moment.

"Enjolras," Joly greeted, the two women's heads looking to the man entering. "Who else is coming today?"

"Just Feuilly and Courfeyrac," Enjolras responded.

"Oh, I suppose we can just wait until they get here," Joly said decidedly. He turned back towards Eponine and Musichetta and continued talking. "So, you were in there for three months?"

"Yeah," Eponine replied. "Prison's not as bad as they make it seem. It's dirty, but you get three meals a day."

"Dirty?" Joly repeated, his eyes wide.

"Remember what I told you? There was no commode or place to bathe."

"Enjolras," Joly said, turning to where the man was reading a worn book at a table several yards away from them, "We should make efforts for prison reform. That's disgusting. Can you imagine the diseases you can get in there?"

"Prison reform is pretty far down the list on things to do, Joly," Enjolras replied without looking up, a thread of annoyance weaved into his voice.

"But it must be terrible in there—"

"It's not that bad," Eponine interrupted. "Some people even try to get caught doing crimes so they can spend a few days in jail."

"Is that what you did?" Musichetta asked.

"No," Eponine said. "I was robbing a house and someone turned out to be home."

"That must have been so scary!"

"Getting caught or prison?"

"Well, both," Joly said.

Musichetta let out a laugh. Joly chimed in and slide a hand over to rest on the crook of her elbow.

"Prison wasn't very scary," Eponine said. "If you can handle yourself, then you will be okay."

"Did you get into any fights?"

"I got into one on the first day," Eponine said. "After that, no one messed with me."

Joly and Musichetta both burst into another peal of laughter, Eponine joining in.

"Could you three keep it down over there?" Enjolras cut in sharply.

"We were here first," Joly said. At the same time Eponine said, "Why don't you go upstairs?"

Enjolras didn't look at Eponine. She felt as if she hadn't met his blue eyes in a long time. Enjolras's gaze flickered momentarily to Joly and then back down at his book. "I'm just addressing that there are other people in the room."

Musichetta's green eyes shifted down to where Joly was affectionately touching her arm. Eponine at first expected her to shrug out of his grasp, but Musichetta instead put her hand over his. "We'll be in the back," she murmured to Eponine just before leading Joly away. Eponine gave them a wry smile, her being used to her peers making no effort to hide their trysts.

Eponine shifted around on her barstool so that she was facing the café, her elbow resting on the bar. Enjolras was still reading at his table. He hadn't, or was pretending not to, noticed Musichetta and Joly's subtle departure. He had to have been pretending; Enjolras was the sort of man to hear everything in the room but respond to none of it.

"Are you going to scold me for going to prison?" Eponine asked.

"I do not blame you for stealing," Enjolras stated.

"And what if I tried to get caught?"

"Then I do not blame you for seeking shelter in prison."

Eponine cocked her head at him. He was still staring at his book, but she thought she could get him to engage in conversation.

"Prison isn't easy for everyone," she said. "But I feel like you could survive it. You seem to have a good right punch from what I've seen."

Enjolras didn't reply.

"What book are you reading?" Eponine asked. She saw the clearly visible expression of annoyance on Enjolras's face.

"A collection of essays by Michel de Montaigne," was the curt reply.

Eponine opened her mouth to say something else, but then Feuilly and Coufeyrac walked through the door.

After Joly had quickly stumbled out from the back room, his hands flattening his untidy hair, the meeting commenced. Eponine absolved to join the four men in their efforts, the small help that she would be since she had never written a letter to anyone of high standing. The current issue being discussed was the lack of acknowledgement any efforts towards reform were getting in the press.

At the end of the meeting, she had decided that she liked Feuilly, despite his quietness. She had learned that he grew up poor, like she, and had taught himself everything he knew about politics, and that he made paper fans for money.

"I would love to see them sometime," Eponine said.

"I don't have any with me at present, but can bring a few favorites by," Feuilly replied. "Perhaps I can convince you to buy one."

"Perhaps," Eponine agreed, rising from the table they were all sitting at.

"How _do_ you get your money, Eponine?" Courfeyrac asked, cutting into their conversation.

"W-what?" Eponine breathed, slightly taken aback. Enjolras locked his jaw and kept his eyes down.

"That apartment seems pretty expensive for a _gamine_," Courfeyrac said to her. He rose up to sneer down at Eponine. She suddenly felt hot, as if she were standing under a policeman's lantern. "I feel like just months ago you were dirty and homeless, now you have your own _garret_."

"I-I do odd jobs for extra cash," she said.

"And the apartment?" Courfeyrac continued coldly. "Do you have a lover who pays for it?"

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras warned softly, keeping his eyes down.

Eponine glanced around. Feuilly was rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Joly had suddenly found the surface of the table very interesting after throwing a glance towards his lover. Musichetta was watching from the bar with an expression of concern. Enjolras was giving her the cold shoulder like he had, aside from his almost reprimand of Eponine's interrogator, since the minute he arrived at _Café Musain_. She would have to stand her own ground, although there really was no simple sounding answer for Courfeyrac's questioning.

"My father… is a man of crime," Eponine answered. "He wants me to join up with him for a job, but I've stopped stealing. He's trying to bribe me by giving me my own quarters."

Courfeyrac narrowed his brown eyes at her, trying to determine if she was lying or not. Lucky for Eponine, she had played this game of resilience thousands of times, but that didn't shake off the uneasy feeling that the people whom she called her friends were now either holding Courfeyrac's suspicions, or not backing her up.

"What type of 'odd jobs?'" he asked, using air quotes to solidify his unwavering suspicion of the girl that was Eponine.

"Just… little things that no one else wants to do…" Eponine replied, suddenly feeling very nervous and embarrassed. "…cleaning people's houses, mending dresses…"

"Perhaps you can clean my apartment," Courfeyrac said to her. "It's dirty."

"Surely you can get someone else to do that," Musichetta interjected. "Someone who isn't in _Les Amis_. You're being rude."

"I can do it," Eponine said quietly, although still thankful for Musichetta's defense. "If you really want me to…"

There was a moment of tension as Feuilly, Enjolras, Musichetta, and Eponine all stared at Courfeyrac. He appeared to have snapped back into his normal, nonchalant self after Musichetta's scolding.

"We can schedule a date later," he murmured. He then turned to gather his things. "I suppose I should be on my way."

Courfeyrac left the building, and for a moment it would seem that everything would fall back to normal. Three beats passed between when Courfeyrac parted and when Eponine spoke.

"That was an odd silence," Eponine announced to the group. "The entire time he interrogated me, you all were quiet. Are these questions many of you have? Have you all been whispering about me behind my back?"

"Eponine, I would never—" Musichetta started.

"I know _you_ aren't," Eponine said, she turned to the three men still sitting. "But you three," Joly and Feuilly looked up to her with anxious eyes while Enjolras remained staring at the table top. "Do you all whisper behind my back? Do you all talk about me when I'm not there? Creating theories about who I'm sleeping with in order to have a roof over my head? Do you not trust me?"

"I didn't know anyone was suspicious of you," Feuilly said.

"Neither did I," Joly added quickly. "As far as I know, that outburst was completely random."

"And you?" Eponine said, shifting her piercing gaze to Enjolras. "Were you conversing with Courfeyrac about me?"

It was silent for a second, but Eponine was having none of it. "Well?" she urged.

"Courfeyrac voiced his suspicions to me, but I rebuked them," Enjolras said plainly. "I told him to trust anyone who's in _Les Amis_, including you."

Eponine took a breath. She was pleased to know that he had defended her in past situations contrary to how he sat idly by while she was put under the lamplight just now. The importance of her defense was that she had friends on her side, not that she needed defending. Eponine could stand up for herself; this was a matter of knowing whether or not her friends gossiped about her.

Eponine smoothed out her skirt beneath her fingers. She gave one last look around the room at all the downcast faces, and left.

* * *

Two days went by where Courfeyrac's words worried Eponine, but she spoke none of it. She realized that Courfeyrac was indeed suspicious, and that he had the right to be because she _was _untrustworthy… technically. She was slowly working herself away from her father with a note of information there, a possible rally place here, but she still felt like her foot was caught in her father's trap while trying to scramble away. She also felt uncomfortable now that she knew that at least one of Les Amis had theories about how she achieved her means. Eponine surprised herself that she also worried about how Enjolras might perceive her now. "_Do you have a lover who pays for it?" _echoed through her mind.

The unknowing ate at Eponine until she finally decided to ask about it after the meeting one night. Her hand caught Enjolras's arm as everyone started to file out of the Musain.

"Enjolras," Eponine said. "I need to make sure of something before you go."

"What is it?" Enjolras replied. There was something in his tone, and Eponine took it as annoyance.

"Do the others… talk about me?" Eponine asked.

"I'm sure you've crossed their minds," said Enjolras tersely, although Eponine did not know the connotations of his answer.

"You know I'm not a mistress, right?" Eponine found herself saying.

"The activities of those in this group are none of my concern," Enjolras stated stoicly. "I do not care for Marius's escapades, nor do I care for yours."

_Oh yeah, if you care so little about our personal lives, then does it matter that mine involves me being caught in a web of telling everything I learn here to the police, or is that _none of your concern_?_ Eponine wanted to spit at him. She still didn't know why she was asking his opinion, or why she was stung by his expressed disinterest.

Eponine lowered her eyes to where he was clutching _le Nationale_ in his fist, his nth letter to the newspaper having been ignored.

Eponine sighed. "I should have guessed that was so."

There was a short pause where Enjolras regarded her underneath hooded eyes.

"Now, I must go attend to my own matters," he said coldly, holding the Enjolras-less newspaper up for her to see. Without giving her room for reply, he then retreated to the second floor of the_ Musain_.

* * *

Enjolras was desperate to escape from Eponine. He let out a sigh of relief as he sat down. She still looked beautiful in her new clothing, and she had been sneaking glances at him all throughout the meeting, incited him to blush even more. He turned his attention to his open letter to _le Nationale_, giving it another attempt to be published in the 'Letters to the Editor' section.

"Yes?" he said after a minute.

"How did you know I was there?" Eponine's voice said from behind him.

Enjolras kept his back to where Eponine's inquisitive body was perched on the banister, just on the threshold of the room. "I could hear your shoes on the stairwell," he answered. He could hardly hear; Eponine's footsteps were the quietest of all the _Les Amis_. She titled her head as his hand whipped over the page, pausing for a moment to dip his quill in the inkwell, causing a few black splatters to trail over the page in haste.

Her hand slipped off the rounded tip of the staircase's banister as she walked towards Enjolras, her hips swaying like the ocean's waves.

"Writing another letter to _le Nationale_?" She asked, leaning some of her weight on the table, a dark curl fell over her shoulder and dangled like a vine in the air.

Enjolras studiously kept his eyes on his paper, urging himself not to tuck the lock of hair behind her ear. He nodded his head tightly.

"We just need to get more politicians on our side," Enjolras said. "Lamarque is not enough."

"You've brought attention to the injustice that plagues France, yes?" Eponine asked. She truly didn't know why the normally republican paper was ignoring all of his letters.

"Yes," Enjolras replied. It was much easier talking to Eponine when it was about politics. "They are well-aware of it. I just don't think they seem to agree that a revolution will be necessary to oust it," he sat back.

Eponine seized this opportunity to quickly scan the letter. It was once again repeating the seemingly age-old message Enjolras was trying to send—injustice, needs of the many, rebellion.

"I just, I don't know what else to write," Enjolras fumed, throwing his hands up in exasperation and then crossing his arms. "I feel like I'm just repeating myself at this point. Is that what I have to do to drill through their thick skulls?"

Enjolras glowered at the paper as if staring at it would give it magical qualities of coercion. The corner of Eponine's mouth twitched at his frustration. The urge to smirk stopped, however, when she took notice of his worn face. Dark circles loomed underneath bloodshot eyes and unshaved stubble coated the lower portion of his face.

"Try this," Eponine said softly. "Write, 'the people of Paris must move. Injustice is apparent in society, and they must now act against it. When injustice becomes law, rebellion becomes duty.'"

Enjolras's quill froze over the paper as his blonde head snapped up, nearly causing Eponine to jump. "What did you just say?"

Eponine took a breath. "'The people of Paris—"

"No, the last part."

"'When injustice becomes law, rebellion becomes duty," she said, looking at his face. Enjolras stared right back for the first time in what felt like days. There seemed to be a fire being rekindled in his turquoise eyes.

"Say it again."

"When injustice becomes law, rebellion becomes duty," Eponine repeated, this time in a more direct tone.

Enjolras rose from his seat, towering over Eponine. "One more time."

"When injustice becomes law—"the rest of Eponine's sentence was engulfed by Enjolras's lips pressing themselves against hers. Eponine was drawn up onto her toes to mold herself against him as she felt his fingers slipping into her hair. With his soft lips against hers, Eponine quickly recovered from her shock, turning the kiss from surprise into passion. She tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss, finding that despite his marble exterior, Enjolras's body was not cold, but a warm retreat compared to the rest of his conversation that day.

Enjolras's body and soul thanked him for finally giving it release. Since the day he met her, Eponine had exuded feminine allure, perhaps not always noticed by Enjolras's naïve mind, but always heavily present. Finally kissing Eponine was like finding _la Fontaine de Jouvence_; the destination was desired, but had never been uncovered. Now, it was a utopia of bliss, making Enjolras feel like the only burden he held was the weight of Eponine's body in his arms.

Eponine's hands found themselves reaching up to lightly grasp Enjolras's waist to advance the connection, but almost as soon as the deep moment was there, it was gone. Enjolras abruptly let go of her, causing Eponine to drop back onto her heels, her shoulders sagging slightly.

Enjolras backed away, a hand absentmindedly coming up touch his lips, feeling the newfound absence of Eponine's embrace. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle," he spluttered, seemingly talking to either the floor or himself, not to Eponine, whose gaze he was diligently ignoring, "that was uncalled for and improper… completely out of line… One of us should leave. I will. Thank you, mademoiselle."

Not being able to look into her eyes, Enjolras walked away from Eponine. She had no choice but to watch him go, a look of pure bewilderment on her face. The whole exchange seemed to be a dream, something that in no way could occur in this universe. After nearly a full minute of standing there alone, Eponine finally found her words. "Thank you for what? The kiss?" However, her words were wasted on the unresponsive walls and floors of the _Musain_.

Eponine slowly approached Enjolras's abandoned letter. Her forehead still crinkled and her mouth still making a small pink 'o,' she looked upon the unfinished imploration. There was a blotch of ink at the end of his last sentence where the quill's ink had seeped into the paper as Eponine repeated the desired lines for Enjolras. Shortly after he had kissed her. Enjolras had kissed _her. _Never in her life did she imagine a man so chaste kissing a girl as tainted as her. Had he ever kissed anyone before? She hoped she wasn't his first kiss; that would be too cruel. God wouldn't let such virtuous lips be blemished upon their first kiss.

Eponine pressed her finger to the ink blotch, the still drying stain leaving a gray tinge on her finger tip. She slowly curled her hand into a fist and held it to her chest. She heard someone enter the café, her head perked up.

She heard a voice and listened in, only hearing it to be Bossuet talking to Musichetta. She heard a few pieces of the lovers' words. It was unknown if Musichetta and Bossuet's love would ever last, and it was unknown to Eponine if Musichetta intended for it to. Eponine thought back to Enjolras. Did he actually feel affection for her? She thought back to when she tried tirelessly to actually win his affections to no avail. Now, she had stopped and he appeared to feel something for her. _Please don't be in love with me, _she thought. _Not now. Not with… everything. Not with me. _

Unannounced, Eponine's eyes welled up with tears. She let out a shaky breath as one rolled down her cheek, leaving a warm trail in its wake. She picked up his hastily scrawled letter. He would surely come back to claim it. She delicately folded it in half and left it by the quill and inkwell. She took a moment to compose herself before silently leaving.

* * *

**_A/N: I'm going to take a nap; this was a very delicate chapter to write and required much attention from me. Reviews are appreciated!_**


	24. Chapter 24: Dumont

_A/N: Hello! I have quite a bit to say today, two things being replies to reviews, and another being an announcement._

_1: Happy birthday to Hannah! I'm glad you liked the kiss that became your informal birthday present!_

_2: One of you asked for my tumblr url, as I have changed it from what previously has been posted as. I am taking a hiatus from that website right now after having been attacked by several other users over my views on Enjolras's sexuality and Enjonine. I was deeply hurt by their words and I decided that I needed some time away from the tumblr Les Mis fandom. Basically two pages of my blog right now are the argument and then my announcement of vacation, so I will give you my url after I come back. If you want to follow blogs with lots of Enjonine love, you can follow loveholic198 and as-mlady-commandss._

_3: Speaking of vacation, I am going on a week long choir trip to Washington, DC. I will return on the 20th and you all can expect a chapter a few days after that! I will be travelling with a bunch of my friends, so I will hardly have time to sleep, let alone write! I've hurriedly written a chapter to tide you all over until I come back, so forgive me if there are a few grammatical errors. I might revise it after I return, probably adding in more dialogue and fleshing out the new character._

* * *

Enjolras went home as fast as he could. _What the hell was that?_ He mentally shouted at himself. He had resolved to not growing closer to Eponine in order to eventually smother out the fire of his feelings. Well, that had backfired, and Enjolras found himself losing control and pulling her in for a kiss. A _kiss_.

He found his legs taking him towards Combeferre's, and Eponine's, apartment building. No, he wouldn't confide in Combeferre about this. It was nothing. Nothing. He had just merely lost control. He was tired. Yeah, he hadn't had a full night's sleep in a week. That made sense. No wonder he felt so incredibly attracted to Eponine when she started talking revolution; it was all he had thought about for days on end. At least, that's what he was telling himself.

He started for the Musain early for the next meeting, hoping to catch Eponine chatting with Musichetta. Luckily, he saw her slim body walking down Saint-Michel in the dying sunlight before she made it to the café.

"Eponine," he muttered.

She abruptly turned, her face reddening.

"I-I want to talk about what happened," Enjolras said.

"Of course," Eponine replied, keeping her voice steady.

"It was a mistake," Enjolras said. Eponine felt slightly crestfallen, but the logical side of her brain told her to be relieved. "I think we should just forget the event altogether."

Enjolras was let down to see Eponine nodding. "I agree," she replied levelly, managing to meet his line of sight. "I do not know what compelled you to kiss me, but, whatever I did, I will try not to do it again."

_I don't think you can simply stop being Eponine._

"I am not exactly sure what was my exigency for kiss—doing that. I attribute it to lack of sleep," Enjolras said, and, seeing a flash of hurt strike across her eyes, looked away.

"Walk with me?" he asked after a brief silence.

Eponine accepted his invitation and Enjolras instinctively held up his arm the way his father had taught him, but as her reluctant fingers were centimeters away from touching him, he dropped it. "Let's just walk," he said as Eponine awkwardly looked for something to do with her hands. She settled on crossing them to avoid the chance of accidentally brushing her hand against his as the strolled.

She settled for silence, afraid that any conversation might turn awkward. Still, she was comforted to know that Enjolras was interested in pursuing a relationship with her even if it meant they weren't kissing. Montparnasse had never really gotten past their first kiss; he insisted that it went on from there.

"How are your hands?" Enjolras asked abruptly, shattering the silence.

Eponine held one up. "Still bandaged. Joly thinks they'll be off soon."

"That's great," Enjolras replied. "It was really brave of you to do that…"

"Eponine the unafraid," she said.

Enjolras let silence fall upon them again. He shouldn't have complimented her. Eponine inhaled. She tried to think of stories in which a man and a woman were purely friends after a romantic "tryst," if you could call Enjolras's abrupt kiss that. Her mind ended up blank.

Luckily, she could forget the depressing thought as the two arrived at the nearly collapsing building of the _Musain_. Enjolras opened the worn door for her, a loud creak being emitting as the hinges unwillingly worked themselves.

"Oh! I must get some of my supplies I forgot… last night," Enjolras said, the two last words mumbled, embarrassed, under his breath. Eponine's eyes trailed him as he briskly stepped up the stairs.

Eponine turned back to the _Musain,_ seeing empty chairs at empty tables. Empty chairs, that is.

"Excuse me, who are you?"

The broad figure standing at the back of the room turned to look at her, dark curls revealing a pair of hooded brown eyes, an aquiline nose, and a pointed chin. The man raised an eyebrow at her. "Hello," he said simply, strolling towards her. There was a touch of amusement in his voice. "It's fairly rude to ask who others are before introducing yourself, you know."

Eponine perused his face. He had a scar protruding from his eyebrow and up onto his forehead like white lightening. A few dark locks that had fallen out of his hair ribbon framed his sharp face.

"I am Eponine," she said. "Again, who are you?"

"I am Gaston Dumont," he said, bowing deeply. "I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, mademoiselle Eponine."

He extended his hand while still in a bowed position. He looked up at her with brown, roguish eyes. Eponine caught his drift and extended her hand. She felt his soft lips lightly press against the back of her hand and suddenly felt guilty.

"What—Oh, I see you've met our ally."

Eponine turned and pulled her hand away from the new man and turned to see Enjolras at the door. Enjolras strode forward, throwing his shoulders back to stand up taller.

"I am the leader of _Les Gens Libres*_," Dumont said proudly, splitting into a smile that showed how his front teeth were crammed for space in his mouth. "Enjolras contacted us a few weeks ago after seeing one of my letters in the press."

"Hopefully we can all join the ranks of liberty together," Enjolras replied. "I warn you, Dumont. I only take the most devoted and loyal of men."

Eponine fought to hang her head. Little did the marble lover of liberty know, Eponine had sent off a letter to her father that morning for him to meet her to discuss current developments in her spying plan.

Dumont laughed a loud belly laugh, revealing crinkles at the corners of his eyes that told Eponine that he was older than Enjolras. Eponine smiled and looked at Enjolras, whose stone face expressed that he was not meaning to make a joke.

"I'm sure you will fulfill all of monsieur Enjolras's expectations," Eponine said once Dumont had brought his laughter down to a halt.

"Is being attractive a requirement, as well?" he asked, glancing between Enjolras and Eponine. "I've seen nothing but handsome people since I have walked in the door."

Eponine could see a muscle in Enjolras's jaw bulge out as he clenched it. She thought she heard a low, almost territorial growl, but she passed it off as her imagination.

"Wait till you see Grantaire," Eponine said, trying to ease up the tension in Enjolras's shoulders. "You'll change your mind."

Enjolras didn't laugh.

"Monsieur, Enjolras, you prove to be quite the guarded man," Dumont said. "That trait is fortunate for a leader to have."

Enjolras offered a curt thank you. "If you will, Monsieur Dumont," Enjolras continued, "I would like to have a conversation about your men."

A series of simple questions followed about the education, maturity, and devotion of Dumont's followers. It was clear from Enjolras's unwavering tone and curt replies when asked about his personal life that he wished the relationship of the _Les Amis_ to the _Les Gens_ to be strictly professional.

* * *

The members who had attended the meeting were slowly dwindling down like sand in an hour glass, leaving four people downstairs.

"You all can go," Enjolras said. "I'll lock up."

The others nodded, Eponine rising.

Courfeyrac slowly rose, pulling out of the conversation with Dumont and Feuilly. Eponine was leaving through the front door, waving goodbye to Musichetta. He watched her turn right when she emerged onto the street. Combeferre had turned left… towards his and Eponine's apartment complex. Why Eponine was not following, he did not know. _Where are you going, mademoiselle?_ He distrustfully watched her body be swallowed up by the dark as she retreated away from the candlelight of the café.

* * *

Eponine walked, hugging herself. She had made sure to look mangy once again for this meeting with her father, pulling her hair out of the clip to ruffle it and smear some ash on her face. She also told him to meet her on _Rue Pierre Sarrazin_ so she could stand in the shadows of the night and avoid him getting a good look at her new dress. As she slowly edged away from him, she would need to be harder to recognize in a crowd than the old, raggedy Eponine that agreed to be a traitor.

* * *

The meeting was well over, and Enjolras remained upstairs in the café with just himself to keep company. He looked out onto the street where he could see A figure, her dress colored a darker red than wine, walking slowly down _Saint-Michel_. _Eponine_, Enjolras smiled. The smirk turned to a frown as he noticed that a figure had emerged into view, stalking the _gamine_ from afar. Enjolras's good judgement told him to wait a moment to see if the man were really following Eponine, and his suspicions were confirmed as Eponine stopped for a moment, alerting the stalker to possible unveiling. The taller figure jumped into an entryway of a shop, hiding from view. Enjolras quickly set out down the stairs, forgetting to lock the door to the _Musain_ behind him.

He began making his way, quickly and as silently as he could manage, down the street to where the figure was trailing Eponine. He drew to a slow stop on the street and quickly ducked into an alleyway.

* * *

Eponine glanced around. She was close enough to _Rue Pierre Sarrazin_ for her father to be around. She could feel his presence nearly at her heels. She had become good at detecting small sounds and the way air suddenly stopped to know when someone was following her. Her father, still lurking in her peripherals, was obviously testing her to see how much of the streets she had held onto since meeting Les Amis. _All of it, father, all of it._

She whirled around to face her pursuer, only to find no one there. Her father could surely use his own skills as a prowler in the night to detect her awareness of his presence. The anxiety stemmed from uncertainty started to blossom in Eponine's mind. Something told her that this wasn't her father. Painful memories from her night delivering Marius's letter to _Rue Plumet_ resurfaced in her mind as anxiety turned to panic.

* * *

Enjolras kept his eyes trained on the spot where the pursuer had dissolved into, leaving Eponine wildly glancing around in the street. He could hear the hissing of the air as she inhaled a breath and the scuffling of her shoes the poor girl turned back around.

_This won't happen again, _Eponine told her panicking mind. _You are a Thenardier, you learn from your mistakes. _

The thin figure emerged from the shadows again and onto the uneven cobblestone to continue his stalk of Eponine. It was as if he was a deerhunter and she was the doe, her eyes now showing their whites as she realized she was being hunted.

Enjolras also entered back into the chase. He lengthened his stride, nearing the stalker and almost able to dive out and grab the inky black curls on his head. Eponine was about to turn around as Enjolras reached out.

* * *

_**A/N: See you lovelies when I get back! 3**_


	25. Chapter 25: Words in the Dark

Enjolras felt his fingers close around a clump of the dark curls in front of him. He yanked abruptly and jerked the figure towards him and clamped a hand over his mouth. The figure let out a series of muffled, yet very audible, shouts. The figure gripped both Enjolras's arms and squirmed in an attempt to free himself. Boots scuffed against pavement as the two struggled against each other. Enjolras, being the taller and thicker of the two, managed to pull his opponent into the alleyway where he had previously been making refuge.

The second the two were obscured by the parallel buildings, the figure was thrown against the wall by Enjolras's now aching arms. Ignoring the tiredness of his limbs, Enjolras pressed one against the stalker's throat and held him against the rough stone of the wall.

Hot breaths puffing furiously against each other's faces, the two men allowed their eyes to focus on one another. As Enjolras attempted to slow his breathing down, the air stopped in his throat as his opponents face faded into focus under the moon's rays.

"Courfeyrac?" he exclaimed.

Courfeyrac raised his chin in an effort to keep from gagging with Enjolras's forearm pressed against his throat. His pale forehead was slick with sweat and his teeth were gritted shut.

"What are you doing out here?" Enjolras asked in disbelief.

Courfeyrac let out a short cough. "Could you possibly put me down first?"

"Of course," Enjolras said, retracting his arm straightening Courfeyrac's jacket. Enjolras took a few steps back to allow his friend some breathing room, which he proved to need as he put his hands on his knees and continued to catch his breath.

Enjolras glanced back towards the street where the altercation had been partaken. The cobblestone looked so peaceful now with no grappling men and no Eponine. That brought back a thought. Had Eponine heard? She either had and fled, or hadn't and kept walking. Enjolras decided that that was not the most important matter at hand. The most important issue was that his friend had been stalking his… other friend through the streets of Paris at night.

"So…?" Enjolras urged, seeing Courfeyrac had straightened up to his full height again. "Why were you following Eponine in the dark?"

Courfeyrac's dark eyes remained focused on his feet.

"Well?"

"She didn't head towards her _garret_," Courfeyrac answered. "She went another way. I was curious of what she could be up to at this hour."

"Just because she's not going straight home means that she needs following?"

"Well, you see, it's dangerous for young women to be out at this hour."

"So that constitutes following her?" Enjolras asked. "I believe she can handle herself." He immediately stopped after that sentence. Hadn't he himself followed her seeing that she was alone at night, and possibly in danger?

"I can't help but think that she is shady," Courfeyrac said.

"Shady?"

"Untrustworthy."

"I know what 'shady' means," Enjolras retorted. "Now tell me, what evil could she possibly be up to tonight?"

"I don't know! That's why I followed her!" replied Courfeyrac.

"Here's the point," Enjolras told him, closing the gap between them. "I will not have mistrust happening between those around me. A revolution will not succeed when there is unrest within its ranks. You will stop spying on Eponine and judging her from being lower class this moment, or you will suffer the consequences. I will not have members of _Les Amis de l'ABC_ following each other at night to make sure they are not up to something. Am I clear?"

"She's gotten to you, Enjolras," Courfeyrac said quietly.

"What?"

"She's gotten to you! She's gotten you to trust her! You're wrapped around her little finger!" said Courfeyrac, his face turning red. "You've let your guard down and now your judgment is clouded by the woman! I know you fancy her by the way you look at her, even after all your shit about loving _Patria._ This is what you've always said you wouldn't do, you hypocrite!"

"How dare you call your chief that!" Enjolras roared. "I have worked day and night while _you_ slept around Paris like a whore! I'm the one who has put blood, sweat, and tears into our cause and sacrificed my social life because of it! Now, I would like for you to quit throwing allegations of members' personal lives around, and focus on what's important before you are asked to leave."

"You can't kick me out of the republic!"

"By doing this you are obstructing liberty, and I will do whatever it takes to avoid that happening," Enjolras told him gravely.

Courfeyrac looked at Enjolras almost incredulously as he threatened to oust one of his closest comrades. Enjolras held the stare levelly, testing the man for his resilience.

"Fine," Courfeyrac said. "I will withhold my suspicions."

"It will be appreciated," Enjolras said sternly. The two friends attempted to revert back to genial conversation as they walked back to their own _garrets_ but tension still lingered in the air like a foul stench.

* * *

Eponine slowed her breathing as she sensed another figure's presence on _Rue Pierre Sarrazin. _She had ran there after hearing the muffled shouts of the figure behind her. Curiosity had begged her to look behind her to see who had been lurking in her peripherals to whole night, and who the rescuer was, but her common sense had sent her running to her meeting place.

"Hello, 'Ponine, my dear," her father's voice hummed from the darkness.

"Hello," Eponine replied. It was odd staring blankly into the darkness since she could not pick out any of her father's features in the night. She supposed it was a good thing.

"How is putting out the rebellion?"

"It is becoming quite easy," Eponine said.

"Have you gained his affections?"

"No," was Eponine's defeated answer. "I gained his trust, but he does not care for me like a man does a woman…"

"As long as he gives you what we want," Thenardier's voice sounded like his mind was somewhere else. "Do they have many followers?"

"No," Eponine answered. She wasn't even sure if that was a lie… the rebellion certainly needed more.

"I am not at all worried about your situation. The rebellion seems to not be able to climb out of its hatchling stage, and we're keeping it that way," Thenardier said decidedly. "Request a meeting with me next time something big happens."

Eponine was slightly taken aback at his lack of demands. "Have a good night's sleep," she found herself saying.

For once, Thenardier wasn't pressuring her for more information. Perhaps the Parisian police system had more pressing issues on its hands. This was just the flexibility Eponine needed to finally sever the cord connecting her to her father.

Eponine's skin felt cool little drops of rain prickle her skin and cause her to have goosebumps. She quickened her pace on her route home, the tapping of rain against the pavement now joining the sound of her footsteps.

Now she could be herself, she could make her own decisions. Her mind started painting a watercolor of the new life she could have. She didn't have to watch herself around Enjolras. She could actually be with him, not just work against him.

Before Eponine let her mind wander too far into the land of daydreams, she stopped herself. She remembered a story her mother would tell her about two lovers who couldn't be together. It wasn't in their stars.

Eponine and Enjolras were the same. Their's wouldn't work; it was like her whole dilemma with Marius all over again. Enjolras was noble and committed to his cause. Eponine was still a lower class _gamine_, not that Enjolras would discriminate against her for it, but he still would never choose her for a marriage. Enjolras was… _Enjolras_, and Eponine was, she decided sadly, Eponine.

She couldn't have everything, she decided. But she still had her freedom.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so late!**_


End file.
